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THE FIRST AMERICAN 




LEILA HERBERT 



THE FIRST AMERICAN 



HIS HOMES AND HIS HOUSEHOIDS 



BY 



LEILA HERBERT 



ILLUSTRATED 




NEW YORK AND LONDON 

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1900 



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Copyright, 1899, by Harper & Brothers. 

All rights restntj. 






CONTENTS 



TAGE 



Preface vii 

PART I 
Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 3 

PART II 
In New York 43 

PART III 
In Philadelphia and Germantown 77 

PART IV 
Final Days at Mount Vernon 105 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

/ 

MISS LEILA HERBERT Frontispiece 

< MOUNT VERNON Facing- p. 4 

FLAN SHOWING THE FOUNDATION OF WAKEFIELD 

HOUSE IN WHICH WASHINGTON WAS BORN . . " 6 
' THE MONUMENT MARKING WASHINGTON'S BIRTH- 
PLACE " IO 

THE HOUSE ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK " 12 

COLONEL WASHINGTON'S WEDDING RECEPTION . . " 16 

"THE WOODS ECHOED" " 22 

"MRS. WASHINGTON CAME IN OFTEN TO SEE THE 

SPINNING NEGRO WOMEN" " 26 

FRANKLIN HOUSE, FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK. . " 44 

WASHINGTON AND MRS. GENERAL GREENE .... " 52 
■ "MISS McIVERS'S FASHIONABLE HEAD-DRESS CAUGHT 

FIRE" " 56 

" STATELINESS OF CIVILIZATION AND SAVAGE STATE- 

LINESS CONTRASTED" " 66 

THE OLD MCCOMB MANSION " 70 

THE MORRIS HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA " 76 

THE GERMANTOWN HOUSE _ " 90 

WASHINGTON IN ANGER " 92 

V 



Illustrations 



MISS CUSTIS AND HER HARPSICHORD Facing p. 94 

HAMILTON ANNOUNCING HIS FREEDOM FROM PUBLIC 

LIFE " 96 

WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL DINNER — HIS TOAST TO 

THE PRESIDENT-ELECT " IOO 

WASHINGTON'S RESIDENCE AT MOUNT VERNON . . " 106 

WASHINGTON AS HIS OWN GAME-WARDEN ... " I08 

RECEIVING HIS OLD FRIENDS AT MOUNT VERNON . " IIO 

WASHINGTON AS HIS OWN SURVEYOR " 112 

WASHINGTON'S LAST FAREWELL " Il6 

"THE MOST CHEERLESS ROOM WAS THE ONLY ONE 

FROM WHICH SHE COULD SEE HER HUSBAND'S 

GRAVE" " 120 



PREFACE 



The lament for the unfulfilled promise of a 
youth, cut short by death, is the burden of the 
noblest elegy ever penned. A like regret will be felt 
by all who read this "book, the first and last work of 
Leila Herbert. So high an authority as Mr. Henry 
Cabot Lodge has declared that The First American 
deserves "a permanent place in the Washington 
literature." 

She was twenty-nine years old when this book 
was written — an early age for man or woman to 
show so many of the qualities of a trained writer. 
Moreover, from her eighteenth year she had borne 
upon her shoulders labor and responsibilities that 
fall to the lot of few young creatures. She then 
became, on the death of her mother, the head of 
her father's house in Washington. Besides the 
cares that fall upon an eldest daughter who takes 
the mother's place in the family, Leila Herbert 
had, as the daughter of a public man at the capi- 
tal, to learn and practise an exacting social routine. 
Few young girls would have had the patience to 

vii 



Preface 

do this, and fewer still would have been as success- 
ful in her position. At twenty-five years of age, 
on her father becoming Secretary of the Navy, she 
was called upon to preside over a Cabinet house. 
The Republic has imposed a rigid ceremonial upon 
its highest officials, rightly considering simplicity 
to be served by having a code. It is one which 
takes much time and strength ; but during these 
four exacting years Leila Herbert still found time 
to perform her duties in the inner circle of her 
family, and to cultivate the great passion of her 
life — reading. She was a person of singular reserve 
— a reserve so extreme, especially concerning her 
acquirements, that her nearest friends reckoned 
it a fault. From her earliest years a reader of 
thoughtful books, she rarely spoke of them ; a good 
linguist, she seldom admitted it. She seemed to 
prefer the reputation of a graceful woman of the 
world to that of a person of great intellectual force. 
She had youth, beauty, a position highly gratifying 
to her pride ; and perhaps thought there was time 
enough — alas ! — for work. That she intended to 
work seriously at literature there can be no doubt. 
Besides the present book, she left fragments of 
another, very incomplete, but showing that quality 
— rarest among beginners — a disposition to write 
and blot out, and write and rewrite many times. 
But the most interesting of these faint records left 
behind her is the remnant of a diary, written with 
a frankness as extreme as her usual habit was re- 

viii 



Preface 

served. It was plainly written down hastily — some- 
times almost illegibly — but bears every evidence 
of perfect sincerity. She tells of her childhood in 
her Southern home ; of her family and friends, of 
whom she speaks with a thorough loyalty of affec- 
tion. She writes thus of her childhood : 

" In the round eyes of a picture of myself at six months 
old there is plainly a born affection between the world and 
myself. I was native to love, and I was born to be loved. 
At one time — up to the age of fifteen, when I went to St. 
Agnes to school — I thought it my prerogative to be liked of 
everybody, and especially those I quarrelled with, whoever 
slightly spoke to me or walked within my world ; and so I 
have an idea I was liked, as I liked everybody, even those I 
did not like, in an openly serious, happy fashion. There is 
nothing still that I so much like as to like people, but I 
have grown fearfully reserved. My mother was sarcastic ; 
her quiet jests were rather hard to bear sometimes, I think. 
I was always, from the first, inclined to live an grand seri- 
eux, diving quite to the bottom of every emotion." 

The mother, a woman of sound sense and sweet 
nature, doubtless saw in the child a disposition to 
go to extremes, and she corrected it by a whole- 
some and gentle ridicule. The child smarted un- 
der it, but the woman gratefully admitted the ex- 
cellence of it. The wise mother, however, by no 
means discouraged the child's tendency to idealize. 

" ' Speak to your sons,' she said to me, 'and tell them it 
was your mother who made them what they are.' 

" I was nine years old when my mother said this to me, 
ix 



Preface 

and you can see how solemn a little thing I was capable of 
being. ' Yes, mother, I will,' I said. 

" My mother was lying in bed. She was a woman of ex- 
traordinary energy and extraordinary leisure. . . . 'Your 
mother would have founded a dynasty,' old Professor T. 
said to me, ' if she lived in the Middle Ages.' 

" My mother's family were wealthy and fashionable, my 
father's religious and studious. I was very worldly and 
very religious (though I never gave any evidence of being 
religious — I always got out of going to church when I 
could). I was very gay and very grave ; very sedate and a 
great tomboy. I loved to study and I loved not to study. 
At school I would be studious for two months, and then 
throw my books to the winds and study more exactly not 
at all than you would easily think possible, until I got 
ashamed of the lowness of my reports and studied so hard 
again that I always came out in the first rank after all. 

"'It is godlike to conceal emotion. It is godlike' not 
to explain one's self,' I said to myself often. Perhaps I 
was mistaken in this." 

This idea of the concealment of her powers seems 
to have taken possession of her at an early age. She 
says that she was terribly afraid of being taken for 
a blue-stocking. Here are some of her reflections, 
made when a very young girl. The conclusions 
belong to the class of the universally conceded, 
but she found them out earlier in life than most: 

"A woman should not have an absurd ideal that she 
waits for. In my opinion very few women do. A feminine 
heart idealizes some big-nosed John or little-nosed Henry, 
and stakes all her happiness on his turning out what she 

x 



Preface 



supposes him to be. According to her worth, his worth; 
her blindness, his blindness; and the mercy of God their 
happiness is. 

" Somebody has said, though in entirely different words, 
that the best of every man is the man, and the rest of him 
simply more or less unfortunate incidental additions. The 
good in the man is the man, the part appealed to. Every 
man represents incompletely a Divine idea. He is only the 
sketch of his possibilities. . . . 

" For, I think, perhaps two years — I cannot tell just how 
long ; one year, perhaps — I remained a vertebrate by saying 
in all sorts of moments to myself : ' I will walk nobly while 
I am above the ground.' 

" Nice thought that. 

" Can't help thinking that I am rather nice, that I can love 
people well and faithfully, and that I much prefer telling 
the truth to telling lies, and that I have struck on a rather 
happy theory of life, though I cannot say I am always 
happy. 

"London. — It is the height of happiness to be much be- 
loved and to give things away. 

" ' I desire not to disgrace the soul.' No soul stoops in 
speaking to mine." 

The next word to this is one in which she seems 
to have recalled her mother's gentle sarcasm, for 
she adds, " That is enough, there, dear." 

And a like instance follows, when after writing 
— ■" I shall love a great reality and nothing else — 
and the great realities live under lock and key, like 
I do — " she adds, " Impertinence." . . . 

xi 



Preface 

" I cannot bear to be patronized. ... I am a little more 
proud than Lucifer. I can understand why he fell. He 
would not be patted on the back by some of the other arch- 
angels, and so he got the ill-will of the influential ones." 

This diary is by no means solely a record of her 
own thoughts and feelings. She expresses many 
opinions — generally sound, and often original — 
upon contemporary persons and events. She was 
entirely antipathetic to Marie Bash kirt serf, of 
whom she says — " Marie Bashkirtseff was a woman 
of immense courage and ruthlessness. She had the 
courage of a nurse in a surgical ward." 

No two natures were ever more diverse, each car- 
rying to a faulty excess what might have been a vir- 
tue. Marie Bashkirtseff, with a devouring thirst for 
fame, to be known as a woman of genius ; and Leila 
Herbert, shrinking from a display of her powers. 
Yet, strangely enough, there is a parallel in their 
short lives — in the call to work that both heard in 
the midst of pleasures, of travel, of gayeties ; and 
in the work they left behind them. On the walls 
of the Luxembourg Museum hangs Marie Bash- 
kirtseffs charming picture of the Paris street ur- 
chins. It is not the greatest picture in the museum, 
but it is the most interesting, the interest being of 
a painful sort ; for the first thought which occurs 
to all who see it is the recollection that the young 
hand which painted it, and which might have done 
much greater things, became dust just as it had 



Preface 

essayed its first trial of strength. So it is with this 
book of Leila Herbert's. 

Her feelings, on her elevation to a conspicuous 
and charming position, as a young girl, she records 
as follows: 

" Before father came up I knelt down and prayed that 
his success would not bring me the hardness of heart and 
selfishness and regardlessness that I had seen it bring to 
so many of the wives and daughters of successful men in 
Washington. . . . 

" I see how it is. Our circle of pleasures must be rounded 
out by its pains, be the circle large or small. When one 
is raised to high position all one's false friends rush to 
the front, half one's true friends stay behind, and all those 
who have real claims nourish hope one cannot fulfil. One 
is praised by unmeaning lips ; not praised by many sincere 
ones from whom one would wish it, through fear of mis- 
apprehension. The hopeful of benefits praise, the disap- 
pointed abuse; wits watch their opportunity of establishing 
themselves by attacking a high mark ; flattery follows one's 
presence in public places. . . . 

" A reporter insisted on having a catalogue of the books 
I had read or liked. I evaded answering for publication 
such a question. I would not tell any one but one I love 
that I love Emerson more than anybody that ever wrote 
anything. Emerson, Carlyle, and Shakespeare come to 
my mind first as the books next in sacredness to the Bible. 
This does not mean that I read many books of that order — 
I do not, for I don't know where to find them— or that I 
am a blue-stocking or a big story-teller, availing myself of 
acquaintance with one or two illustrious names. For some 
to myself unexplainable reason, I do not want people in 
general to know that a noble book gives me more pleasure 

xiii 



Preface 

than anything else on God's beautiful earth. I rather think 
it is from the fear of appearing to wear das bleu — a fear im- 
planted in my mind, along with the ambition to excel if I 
can in anything I undertake, by my mother." 



Her duties in her new position did not leave her 
much time for either reading or reflection, but she 
made time for both ; and she also collected the 
materials for this book. She was well placed to 
do so, being the vice-regent from her native State 
of Alabama for Mount Vernon. This office had 
been held by her mother, and so admirably had 
she filled it that the regent and vice-regents kept 
the vacancy open, in the expectation that Leila 
Herbert would show herself qualified to take it. 
This expectation was justly fulfilled. She was ap- 
pointed in 1895, and was the youngest woman who 
ever had that distinction conferred upon her. She 
was a regular attendant at the yearly meeting of 
the Mount Vernon regents; and her suggestions at 
the council board, although few, were practical, and 
were generally accepted. She was fond of walking 
alone through the woods and fields of Mount 
Vernon, and there conceived the idea of writing this 
book. It was there, too, that she imbibed a hearty 
and sincere Americanism, which, like most of her 
deepest thoughts and feelings, was rarely soluble in 
words. She made three visits to Europe, and en- 
joyed to the full, with her characteristic quiet in- 
tensity, the treasures of art and beauty that were 



Preface 

open to her there ; but she ever returned a better 
American than she went. 

"You may believe me when I say that nothing would 
make me so unhappy as to live out of my own country. 

" I am devoted to my own country and my own people. 
I should be simply a pining exile anywhere else. . . . How 
wonderful it is that we should have all the sunshine in our 
land. No wonder we are cheerful, and that we are always 
half in jest. God said we might be. . . . 

"Toadying is distinctly European. There is absolutely 
nothing easier than for an American to get rid of his 
unfortunate American friends. There are exceptions, of 
course. But if you see a well-dressed American gentleman 
walking the street with a shabby person of doubtful ap- 
pearance you may generally put it down as a virtue in the 
superior and not a vice in the inferior, that they are to- 
gether. The more fortunate is probably with an ill-starred 
schoolmate or cousin only because he sought him. When 
the envy-provoking day is over, the ill-starred cousin will 
probably not even pay his 'party-call,' that he may prove 
his independence and lack of desire to go with another on 
unequal terms. The fortunate man in this country sues 
the affection of the common and unfortunate, or he does 
not have it. . . . 

" American men are all generosity, strength, and tender- 
ness to their womankind, some of whom repay them by 
going to Europe, learning the cant of the idle European 
aristocracy, and coming back to despise their virile fathers 
and husbands and brothers, in the new-learned belief that it 
is a disgrace to be a busy doctor or manufacturer, and that 
idleness or useless activity and gentility are synonymous. 
It would be well if American fathers would keep their 

xv 



Preface 

daughters at home till they learn one simple fact, and 
that is, that the bread and butter of the European aristoc- 
racy in large part depends on their crying down and abus- 
ing American institutions in one breath and proposing for 
American heiresses with the next; that it is dangerous to 
the European aristocrat to admit in any way the evidence 
of America that there is something better for a nation than 
the rule of the aristocrat; that every institution holds itself 
up by propagation of its own ideas; that when aristocrats 
approve of a republic and commend its results in individu- 
als there will be no more kingdoms or empires." 

She had, however, a very sharp appreciation" of 
all that was excellent, even outside of her own coun- 
try. She writes, during her last visit to England: 

" I think I will put on my gossamer and go out in the 
rain to Westminster Abbey and live for a few moments. 

" August 27th. — Went to the National Gallery again to- 
day to see the Turner pictures. Did it in the first place 
because Ruskin thinks a man is a boor who doesn't do it ; 
did it in the second place because it makes me excitedly 
happy to behold the delicacy of coloring and happy dream- 
ing in 'Queen Mab's Grotto,' the burst of splendor and 
beauty in 'Ulysses Deriding Polyphemus,' the conquering 
blue sky, the melting shades in ' Childe Harold's Pilgrim- 
age' — in anything he may paint, the beauty of his colors, 
the grace of his forms. . . . 

" This London climate depresses me fearfully, makes me 
constantly ill, but my mind still seems free to enjoy while 
my teeth are chattering. All the Turners remain in my 
mind, the Guido Renis, while I walk in the gloomy streets 
and wonder that one can here take a cheerful view of life. 

xvi 



Preface 

I think I would die within six months if I tried to remain 
in England. 

" I long for the sun as I would for a dead friend. . . . 

"Walked out alone this morning; went up the Strand to 
a bookseller. Small shop. Asked for any one well-printed 
volume of Plato. Had only very cheap editions, not fit to 
buy, or very expensive, unwieldy ones, not to be had sepa- 
rately. I had an unpleasant sensation that the bookseller 
tried to cheat me out of four shillings sixpence — a thing 
I do not like to think, as I have the witness of my own 
experience that people very seldom try to defraud in the 
ordinary walks of life, and a different belief would very 
seriously disturb me. This one exception, however, would 
have no real effect on my dear conception of this, my own 
dear world." 

She determined not to go to the funeral of a cer- 
tain distinguished English artist, because, as she 
gravely put down, she had " seen the gloom of the 
English at tea-parties and balls, and so could not 
bear to go to an English funeral." 

All during her brief life she seems to have 
thought deeply upon the subject of religion — 

" The Creator of all things has created evil. He is wise. 
Shall I apologize for Him and attempt to cover up His 
handiwork with my small hand and say that it does not 
exist? . . . 

" I do not think a Christian should say ' lam a Christian, f 
walkover me. Don't trouble yourself to walk around.' . . . 

" Needless martyrdom does not help, but hinder, a good 
cause ; so does the practice of calling a bad thing by a good 
name, though with the most charitable intention. . . . 
xvii 



Preface 



" I believe that only Love has eyes. God is Love, and 
God sees all. Love sees all, and Love alone sees all. . . . 
" But one deep thought has gone into my heart that has 
swept many cobwebs away — the necessity for thankfulness 
— for praising God for His goodness to me. My heart cries 
out because I question His existence, but I ask His forgive- 
ness and I worship Him. There is nothing to me that will 
take the place of belief in Infinity and Divine listening 
Love. Aunt F. says: 'All my fresh springs are in Thee'; 
and her soul is refreshed, revived, comforted. I long to 
say that, but I see human souls mowed down like grass ; 
I see that with many even the higher delights of earth 
they could not reach ; then how are they fit for heaven ? I 
say of those who have struggled, whose spiritual make-up 
seemed to include the necessity of the alternations of pain, 
pain, pain, and joy, and of pain again : ' When they are 
resting, when they have finished the fight, when they count 
not the few joys they are missing and feel not their woes, 
why, why waken the turbulent souls ? Let them sleep. A 
future life to rise to? Was it not well that there was an 
end to this? It was well. A merciful God lets them sleep. 
They feel not ; there is no anguish that with the faintest 
pang will touch their dead hearts ; they clasp not the hands 
in grief, and with no unmeaning smile and simulated seren- 
ity bear the aching dulness of the pain that will not pass. 
Let them, oh let them sleep.' And still with all these 
thoughts, with all these doubts, I know there is, there 
must be, a God. My doubts do not keep me in doubt, but 
they keep me away from 'the fresh springs,' 'in a dry and 
thirsty land where no water is.' I say, will the water keep 
me alive forever? If I do not know that it will I will not 
drink where I should only drink for the hour. 

" Yet into my soul the spirit of thankfulness has crept, 
and I pray God to let it grow greater and greater. The 
servant of a Roman general was ordered to say to him at 

xviii 



Preface 

every meal, ' Remember Carthage.' I want every small 
trouble and each great one that God may send to me to 
say to me, ' Remember your lasting joy and the goodness 
of God.' " 



In the spring of 1897, upon the retirement of her 
father from office, she occupied, for the first time 
since her young girlhood, a private station. It was 
no longer necessary for her to give up her time to 
anything but to her family, to her friends, and to 
her books. She chose to spend the summer in a 
retired country place, where, with many books, and 
seeing but few persons, she passed perhaps the 
happiest time of her life. In those bright and 
peaceful months she put in order the materials she 
had collected, and wrote this book. Her recrea- 
tions were long walks and rides. 

On a certain day in September she was thrown 
from her horse, and received what was supposed to 
be a slight injury. She paid little heed to it, and 
returning to Washington in the autumn, re-estab- 
lished her household. This was the last work she 
was permitted to do. It was work for those she 
loved, and, as such, it was dearer to her than the 
writing of any book could possibly be. 

As the weeks passed on, her health began to fail. 
Presently she lay in her bed, seldom rising from 
it, but always patient, and even gay. She sang 
ballads very sweetly, and it was one of the greatest 
pleasures of her father to listen to her singing the 

xix 



Preface 

quaint old songs her mother had sung and had 
loved. Often, when he sat by her bedside, she 
would sing to him quite gayly and cheerfully. As 
the months passed on, though, and she grew no 
better, serious alarm was felt for her. Suddenly, 
and with scarce a day's warning, the injury to the 
spine flew to the brain, and in less than forty-eight 
hours she was no more. She died on the 22d of 
December, 1897, in her thirtieth year — young, 
gifted, loving, and greatly loved. 

" Oh, eloquent and mighty Death, whom none 
could advise, thou hast persuaded ; what none have 
dared, thou hast done ; and whom all the world flat- 
tered, thou only hast cast out of the world. . . . 
Thou hast drawn together all the far -scattered 
greatness, all the pride ... of man, and covered 
it all over with these two narrow words, hie jacet." 

Molly Elliot Seawell. 



LIST OF AUTHORITIES 



The facts contained in this account of Washington's do- 
mestic life were gleaned in a study of the following histories 
and publications: 

Ford's "Writings of Washington"; Irving's "Life of 
Washington " ; Mrs. R. E. Lee's " Memoirs of George Wash- 
ington Parke Custis " ; " Recollections and Private Memoirs 
of the Life and Character of Washington," by George Wash- 
ington Parke Custis; Marshall's " Life of Washington"; 
Schroeder's "Life and Times of Washington"; Lossing's 
"Life of Washington"; Sparks' "Life of Washington"; 
Rush's " Washington in Domestic Life " ; Henry Cabot 
Lodge's "Life of Washington"; Griswold's "Republican 
Court"; Edward Everett Hale's " Life of Washington"; 
"Critical Period of American History," by John Fiske ; 
Woodrow Wilson's "Life of Washington"; Twining's 
"Travels in America" (1795); "George Washington as an 
Inventor and Promoter of the Useful Arts," by J. M. 
Toner, D.D. ; " Life of Jefferson," American Statesman 
Series ; " Germantown Road and Its Associations," by 
Townsend Ward ; " Washington After the Revolution," by 
William S. Baker; "Extracts from Diary of Jacob Hiltz- 
heimer " ; " Letter of Theophilus Bradbury to His Daughter 
Harriet"; "Letter of Edward Thornton, Secretary Lega- 
tion to English Minister" (1793); " Excerpts from Account- 
Books of Washington," by J. M. Toner, D.D. (the six last- 

xxi 



List of Authorities 



mentioned articles found within twenty volumes of the 
"Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography"); 
" Germantown, Mt. Airy, and Chestnut Hill," by Rev. S. F. 
Hotchkiss; "Travels of the Marquis de Chastellux in 
North America in the Years i78o-'8i-'82"; "George Wash- 
ington, Day by Day," by Elizabeth Bryant Johnson ; " Mt. 
Vernon and Its Associations," by B. J. Lossing ; " Mary 
and Martha Washington," by B. J. Lossing ; " Life of Gen- 
eral Lafayette," by Bayard Tuckerman ; " Mt. Vernon 
Record," a Magazine of Washingtoniana, printed in Phila- 
delphia from August, 1858, to February, i860 ; Aaron Ban- 
croft's "Life of Washington"; Lamb's "History of New 
York City"; "Washington's Diary," edited by B. J. Los- 
sing ; " Memorial History of the City of New York," edited 
by James Grant Wilson; Moulton's "History of New 
York"; "History of Philadelphia," by J. Thomas Scharf 
and Thomas Westcott ; Howe's "Virginia: Its History 
and Antiquities " ; Watson's " Annals of Philadelphia " ; 
"Authenticated Copy of the Last Will and Testament of 
George Washington of Mt. Vernon, Embracing a Schedule 
of His Real Estate, and Notes Thereto by the Testator," 
published by A. Jackson, 1868; " Barons of the Potomack 
and the Rappahannock," Moncure Conway. Weems' " Life 
of Washington," and Paul Leicester Ford's " The True 
George Washington" were read. 

The Author 



part IT 

CHILDHOOD AND LIFE AT MOUNT VERNON 





ASHINGTON had little private life 
from his nineteenth year to his 
death - hour. Even in his " retire- 
ment " at Mount Vernon he was busily en- 
gaged in moulding public opinion, writing 
much on the questions of the day. Perhaps 
no historical character of the first magnitude 
ever left more voluminous records of himself. 
These photograph his mind and heart ; from 
them any man may know him that will. 

An inner life he had — strong and deep — 
too deep to let down the floodgates in the 
style of John Evelyn in his diary, or of Marie 
Bashkirtseff in her journal. He was a man 
of action, and his actions are our chief index 
to his thought, the spring of action. A Fred- 
erick the Great, a Napoleon, a Bismarck, a 
Gladstone, an Emerson, and a chorus of the 
world's great trace the thought and call him 
great. Now and then an American scribe 
thinks to detect that he was no greater than 



The First American 

he should have been ; and sells books on the 
strength of the attention-attracting idea. 

There is nothing of importance concerning 
Washington's public life that is true that has 
not been told over and over again, till the 
words are half meaningless. Tales of the 
household are less dwelt upon. Of his mili- 
tary headquarters many are reverently pre- 
served, and many houses are standing in 
which he visited or lodged. 

Viewing his life, not in its military aspect, 
but in the distinctively civil, with a special eye 
to the after -fate of the buildings that had 
the honor to shelter his lares and penates, we 
discover that of the eight houses identified 
with his home life only two are standing: his 
favorite, that at Mount Vernon, on the Poto- 
mac, where lies his body; and a temporary 
Presidential dwelling occupied perhaps for 
two months — the Perot- Morris house in Ger- 
mantown, Pennsylvania. 

We treat of Washington's life in these 
eight houses, and of their fate, in turn. 

Here is a fragment of a letter found dur- 
ing the Civil War in a deserted mansion near 
the York River : 

4 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

W ms Burg, Ye -]th of Oct., 1722. 
Dear Sukey: Madam Ball of Lancaster and her 
Sweet Molly have gone Horn. Mama thinks Molly the 
Comliest Maiden she knows. She is about 16 old, is 
taller than Me, is verry sensable, Modest, and Loving. 
Her hair is like unto Flax, Her Eyes are the color of 
Yours, and her Chekes are like May blossoms. I wish 
you could See Her. 



" Sweet Molly " was a belle in the county 
of Lancaster, Virginia. She is more familiar- 
ly known to history as Mary Ball. At twenty- 
three she was unmarried ; a strong, handsome, 
" sensable " girl. A year later she became 
engaged. Her fiance was a wealthy widower, 
with two children, whose wife had been dead 
about sixteen months ; his name, Augustine 
Washington. The home he brought her to, 
" Wakefield," * in the near-by county of West- 
moreland, was a farm of a thousand acres, 
stretching for a mile and more along- the 
smiling broad Potomac, from Popes to 
Bridges creek. The house was on or near 
Popes Creek. 

* The name " Wakefield " seems not to have been 
given the place until the publication of The Vicar of 

Wakefield, twenty-two years later. 

5 



The First American 

It illustrates the obscurity of our early his- 
tory that no absolutely reliable picture can be 
eiven of the Wakefield house as it then stood. 
Lossing paints it as a four-room cottage of 
wood, with attic, tall roof, and long eaves slop- 
ing low in front into the covering of a tiny 
piazza looking out upon the river. Conway 
says, in Barons of the Potomac and Rappa- 
hamwck, that it was not a cottage, but a spa- 
cious residence, and for his proof relies upon 
three facts. First, that Washington, in writ- 
ing to Sir Isaac Heard, says that his half- 
brother Augustine (Austin) " occupied the 
ancient mansion-seat until his death." But 
this was a designation of the place where, 
rather than a description of the residence in 
which, Austin lived. Second, that the inven- 
tory of the estate of Austin, who had inherit- 
ed, and who had died at Wakefield in 1762, 
showed eisrht handsome bedroom sets, be- 
sides furniture for dining-room and parlor. 
Third, that excavations have shown extensive 
brick foundations. 

Now these foundations were not extensive. 
The survey made by Civil- Engineer John 
Stewart, of the United States army, for the 

6 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

government, is here given, and there is noth- 
ing else to show with historical accuracy the 
shape and size of the house in which George 
Washington was born. 

What appears to have been the body of the 
house was 20 feet by 17 feet 3 inches, and the 
wing was 21 feet 3 inches by 13 feet 9 inches. 
If Mr. Stewart got all the foundations, and it 
must be presumed he did his work thorough- 
ly, the house was not extensive. The inven- 
tory cited by Conway is undoubtedly reliable, 
but the furniture was some of it probably in 
out-houses. Mr. J. E Wilson, a very intelli- 
gent old gentleman, who married one of the 
Washingtons and is the present owner of 
Wakefield, in an interesting letter to the 
writer says his conclusion is that the house 
" was by no means a large one, and that to 
indulge in the lavish hospitality of the period 
required sleeping-rooms in detached build- 
ings ;" and he also says that this was the cus- 
tom at other households within his own 
memory. 

Lossing also says the birth-house was de- 
stroyed by fire in 1735, but this is disputed by 
Conway and others. If there was a fire then, 

7 



The First American 

there was also another about 1779. The 
house was in 1779 the property of William 
A., the son of Austin Washington, and Mr. 
Wilson had the story of this fire from persons 
who themselves remembered it, and also from 
William A. Washington's daughter, Mrs. 
Sarah Tayloe Washington, whose father told 
it to her. Mr. Wilson also had it from Henry 
Weldon, " an uneducated man of good reputa- 
tion," that he remembered the house destroyed 
by fire in 1779 "as a main building with a 
hipped roof and dormer-windows, and a one- 
story wing, which would not tally with Loss- 
ing's picture, but would easily fit the founda- 
tions " presented in this article. 

Much of the fine furniture left by Austin 
at his death had doubtless been purchased by 
him. He was the wealthiest of the Washing- 
tons, and had married a woman who had also 
wealth, and was "a dashing figure at the 
races." 

It may be reasonably assumed that in the 
house to which the bride had come the fur- 
nishings were plain. There was no luxury, 
but servants a plenty and solid comfort. An 

elderly woman relative had charge of the two 

8 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

boys, Lawrence and Augustine, nine and seven 
years old. She no doubt thought the elder 
Augustine might have been satisfied with 
things as they were. Upon a table in one room 
lay Sir Matthew Hale's sweet tonic Contem- 
plations, Moral and Divine. On the fly-leaf the 
first wife had written her name, " Jane Washing- 
ton." Instead of regarding the signature with 
horror, hiding the book from her sight, per- 
haps tearing out the leaf, the new wife wrote 
beneath, " and Mary Washington." She faced 
facts boldly, studied the book, and taught its 
precepts to her children when they came. Her 
first-born was George Washington. 

After the death of George Washington his 
adopted son placed where the Wakefield 
house had stood a slab of stone commemorat- 
ing the fact that hallowed the spot that was 
the birthplace of Washington. He commend- 
ed the care of the modest memorial to the pa- 
triotism of his fellow-countrymen. The stone 
long ago fell to pieces, but the government 
has erected a monument. 

Lossing says that in 1735 Augustine moved 
with his family to his estate on the Rappahan- 
nock, within sight of Fredericksburg, in Staf- 

9 



The First American 

ford County, and that the house at this place 
was almost an exact reproduction of what he 
had described as the " Wakefield " cottage — 
four rooms with attic. But Conway proves 
from certain old records of Truro Parish (in 
which lies Mount Vernon) that the residence 
of Augustine Washington immediately after 
removal from " Wakefield " was at Mount 
Vernon, where he probably remained five 
years, going, when the Mount Vernon house 
was burned, to the home on the Rappahan- 
nock — " a plain wooden structure of moderate 
size, of a dark red color" (Conway) — a de- 
scription not disagreeing in substance with 
Lossing, though Conway asserts, without offer- 
ing evidence, that the picture given in Loss- 
ing's Mary and Martha Washington is not 
correct. Our illustration is after Lossing's 
drawing, in collecting the material for which 
he spent thirty years. 

By the time the family moved to the Rap- 
pahannock, " Sweet Molly," from " a sensable, 
modest " girl, had grown into a fine manager, 
a firm woman; judging from what is written 
of her — no great amount — she was not given 
to much talk ; when she spoke, speaking her 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

mind ; an entity. She must have been a just 
step-mother; much money was spent in the 
education of her step -sons, Lawrence and 
Austin, who were sent to England, while her 
own children received but the meagre educa- 
tion to be had in Virginia country schools. 
As a boy, Lawrence Washington of Chotank 
(a relative, not the half-brother) often played 
with George at the house on the Rappahan- 
nock. " Of the mother," wrote Lawrence of 
Chotank, " I was more afraid than of my own 
parents ; she awed me in the midst of her 
kindness ; and even now, when time has whit- 
ened my locks and I am the grandfather of a 
second generation, I could not behold that 
majestic woman without feelings it is impos- 
sible to describe." 

Lawrence Washington, George's half-broth- 
er, returned from England a fine young gen- 
tleman when George was still going to " Mr. 
Hobby's " " old field " school, diligently learn- 
ing to misspell. There was a pretty affection 
between George and his brother. Lawrence 
went off again, a doughty captain in the 
King's navy, to whip the Spanish — English 
enough, no doubt, to be glad there was some- 



The First American 

body that needed whipping. The envious 
George, left behind, consoled his military fan- 
cies by marshalling half the school, " the Eng- 
lish," in battle-array against the other half, 
" the Spanish," led by Sefior Don William 
Bustle. 

Augustine Washington held in memory the 
wife of his youth. He died in 1743, leav- 
ing his handsomest estate, Mount Vernon 
— regarding Conway's assertion concerning 
" Wakefield " as unproved — to Lawrence, his 
first wife's eldest born. Americans had then, 
however, a propensity to observe the English 
law of primogeniture, and so it may be that 
Mary Washington had no cause for jealousy. 

The home on the Rappahannock, be- 
queathed to George, has long since paid 
its debt to nature, and is no more. 

George Washington came into possession 
of Mount Vernon in 1755, at twenty-three. 
Before it became his, it was on all days open 
to him, from the time of the marriage of his 
loved half-brother, Lawrence, in 1743, when 
George was eleven years old, to the death of 
Lawrence, in 1752, and the final fulfilment 
of his will. The estate was left by Lawrence 



_ S3 
> O 

» c 



a O 

0. Z 



— Z 
■z 

c 




Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

to his only surviving child, a daughter, with 
reversion, in case of her death without issue, 
to George. The daughter, a delicate child, 
died soon after. There is said to have been 
a slight disagreement with the widow in re- 
gard to the will. 

The name of the estate, Epsewasson, or 
Hunting Creek, had been changed by Law- 
rence — a consequence of his enthusiastic ad- 
miration of Admiral Vernon, under whom he 
had served in the West Indies during the 
war with Spain. 

Mount Vernon is in Fairfax County, Vir- 
ginia, on the Potomac, sixteen miles below 
Washington. There is no beauty of heart 
that would not be fostered by the beautiful 
natural surroundings. The house, simpler 
then than later, stands two hundred feet 
above the water, on a broadly rolling emi- 
nence green with grass, and with trees 
shading where they need to shade. The 
river sweeps lovingly, caressingly around 
and about, loath to leave, and spreads be- 
neath the glistening sun or the quiet moon 
or the dull gray clouds of threatening storm 
into a breadth of two miles of reflecting 

13 



The First American 

water. There is something that seems lim- 
itless in the view, promiseful. 

The house, generally said to have been built 
by Lawrence (Conway says it was built by 
Lawrences father), had, when Washington 
inherited it, but two floors and an attic, four 
rooms on each floor. There were twenty-five 
hundred acres in the estate ; this, with the in- 
heritance from his father of the farm on the 
Rappahannock, where his mother still lived, 
made Washington in his youth comparatively 
land-wealthy, which means poor to Virginians. 
There was little more ready money then in 
farming than to-day. 

With their neighbors the Fairfaxes, across 
the River at Belvoir, the estate of Lord 
Thomas Fairfax, the Mount Vernon house- 
hold had much and pleasant intercourse. 
Old Lord Thomas, a kindly eccentric, a dis- 
appointed refugee from the worldly world of 
London, had in the years past, when George 
visited his brother Lawrence, conceived an 
active liking for the masculine, handsome 
young fellow, who, though shy in the pres- 
ence of ladies, had a sane man's fancy for a 
pretty face, and the ready ability to adorn his 

14 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

place, afield or in drawing-room, that native 
dignity confers. The old lord's respect for 
fitness of dress no doubt had its effect upon 
the youthful Washington, though there was 
no lack of regard in Virginia for Polonius's 
advice concerning purse and habit. 

It was a crystalline day, the 6th of Janu- 
ary — old style — 1759. Up to a colonial 
mansion, the " White House," in New Kent 
County, Virginia, a spanking team of horses 
clattered and stopped, puffing clouds of breath 
on the frosty air. From the great coach a 
brisk -faced, slow, important gentleman in 
scarlet dress stepped out, British from fore- 
head to foot — his Excellency Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor Fauquier, come with his wife to grace 
the wedding party of young Colonel George 
Washington, a new Burgess in the Virginia 
Assembly. The Lieutenant-Governor assist- 
ed the lady to alight. His sword clanking as 
he followed her, removing his belaced cocked 
hat, he entered, to add to festive brilliance 
within. The dark eyes of the comely little 
bride, " the widow Custis that was," were 
bright. She greeted them with dignity, soft- 
ened by a desire to please into the gracious- 

15 



The First American 

ness that is Southern. In white satin thread- 
ed with silver, and quilted petticoat, she wore 
pearls entwined in her soft brown hair. Her 
little feet in high-heeled slippers, " the small- 
est fives,"* twinkled with buckles of brilliants. 
Point-lace ruffles fell about plump tapering 
arms and bosom, and adorned with bracelets 
and necklace of pearls she looked tiny beside 
the tall bridegroom, in his costume of blue 
lined with red silk, embroidered white satin 
waistcoat, gold knee and shoe buckles, and 
sword. Happiness beamed in his glance and 
movement. He was the handsomest man of 
the handsome assemblage, it is said, and he 
had the quality that most quickly makes a 
woman love — masterfulness unmixed with 
tyranny. He was twenty-seven, she but three 
months younger. Her charms were such that 
on the day they met he knew that he wished 
to marry her. He had seen her but four times 
before marriage ; each time, however, was a 
day or more, or little less ; and a correspond- 
ence during eight months had furthered ac- 
quaintance and ripened confidence. It was a 

* For some reason shoes are numbered differently 
now — woman's vanity, perhaps. 

16 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

hopeful wedding, a suitable match. All made 
merry, and every servant on the plantation had 
a holiday and a gift. 

To be near Williamsburg, the seat of the 
Virginia Assembly, the honeymoon was spent 
at the White House,* the home of the bride, 
once the property of Daniel Parke Custis, her 
first husband. The ground on which the old 
White House stood, and the changed build- 
ings, are now the property of Mr. Robert 
E. Lee, Jr. 

When the Assembly adjourned, young 
Washington brought his bride to Mount 
Vernon. For forty-six years Mount Vernon 
was Washington's home. He died and was 
buried there. It was to him the reality and 
ideality of home. To tell of what he did from 
Mount Vernon as a base would be to tell his 

* It is said in Williamsburg and New Kent County 
that the wedding ceremony took place at the parish church 
— St. Peter's. Custis and others state that it was per- 
formed at the residence of the bride. There is no con- 
tention concerning the fact of the wedding party at the 
White House and the honeymoon. 

The "White House" in the city of Washington is 
said to have been so called in compliment to Mrs. 
Washington. 

b 17 



The First American 

entire history, leaving out the little that is 
positively known of his mother's mighty pre- 
liminary work, to which he said he owed all. 

It was from Mount Vernon, in 1753, at the 
age of twenty-one, that he was sent by the 
English Governor Dinwiddie on his delicate 
mission of warning to the French, concerning 
disputed possessions on the Ohio; from Mount 
Vernon that, in 1755, after having resolved to 
devote his life, as Bancroft says, to " agricultural 
and philosophick pursuits," he went, a colonel 
at twenty-three, to join the English Braddock 
as aide-de-camp in the war against the French ; 
from Mount Vernon that he went for fifteen 
years to Williamsburg, a Burgess to the Vir- 
ginia Assembly ; from Mount Vernon that he 
wrote, at the right time, a volley of letters to 
friends prominent in Virginia statesmanship, 
to express grave opinions against the right 
of England to tax the colonies ; that he went 
to preside over the Fairfax County meet- 
ing, which his opinions largely had called 
together, to agree upon non- importation 
of taxed articles ; that he journeyed to the 
two Congresses in Philadelphia — at the first 
to proclaim and protest against American 

18 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

wrongs, at the second to be chosen com- 
mander-in-chief of the revolted United Col- 
onies, to be absent eight years (less three 
days), fighting a desperate fight, to end in the 
triumph that gave liberty the sweetest chance 
to grow that it has ever had ; it was at Mount 
Vernon that he gave up again his loved occu- 
pation of farming to be a clear-eyed pilot to 
the beauteous new ship of state, till he car- 
ried it out to sea. 

Washington's life at Mount Vernon, after 
settlement there as owner, naturally divides 
into three periods. The first (1755-75) m " 
eludes his young married life, and ends with 
the outbreak of the Revolution ; the second 
(1 783-89) begins with his return after the Rev- 
olution, and closes with his election to the 
Presidency; the third (1797-99) embraces the 
close of his life. The final days we shall con- 
sider after recounting household arrangements 
and family happenings in the four houses — 
two in New York, one in Philadelphia, and 
one in Germantown — occupied while Presi- 
dent. 

In the first period (1755-75) Washington 
was farmer, vestryman, sportsman, member 

19 



The First American 

of the House of Burgesses, colonel of the 
Virginia militia, and delegate, finally, to the 
two Continental Congresses at Philadelphia. 
Prominent by reason of extraordinarily early 
military success, hospitable, provident, inven- 
tive, he grew steadily in reputation and in 
wealth. In all his days a great user of the 
pen in diaries, in letters, in contracts, he slow- 
ly eradicated much of the result of miseduca- 
tion at self-satisfied Mr. Hobby's " old field " 
school.* 

The early household consisted of Washing- 
ton and his wife, and her two Custis children, 
four and six years old at the time of Washing- 
ton's marriage, John and Martha — "Jacky" 
and " Patsy": Jacky, mischief-making, active; 
Patsy, a sweet, tender little thing, unusually 
brunette, colorless, and frail. Washington 
paid much attention to the claims of relation- 
ship. Visiting for days, weeks, months, or 
with no apparent intention of departure, guests 
continually filled his house — his and his wife's 
relatives; the aristocracy of the neighborhood 
and their guests ; chance gentlemen, with and 

* Hobby said that it was he that laid the foundation 
of Washington's greatness. 

20 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

without letters of introduction, from England 
and elsewhere ; the clergy ; Virginia politi- 
cians; the portrait- painter, good and bad, 
chiefly bad, who had his field throughout the 
country. 

When the Fairfaxes came over to stay the 
day, and perhaps the night, for a good run to 
the hounds, most of the guests joined in. The 
men wore gay, true sportsman costumes. 
Colonel Washington's superfine red waistcoat 
was trimmed in gold lace, and contrasted well 
with his handsome blue broadcloth coat, fit- 
tins: loose across broad shoulders. His neat 
silver-capped switch had small need to touch 
fiery Blueskin, his favorite horse, who curvet- 
ed beneath him while waiting for the start, 
and when the signal came was off at a bound. 

The Colonel was fearless of any but a stum- 
bling horse, sat with ease and power, had a 
wonderful grip with his knees. 

" I require but one good quality in a horse 
— to go along," said he, though Blueskin was 
graceful and well proportioned. 

The ladies on hunting days, in dainty last- 
century dress, some of them in crimson riding- 
habits, made a mighty pretty picture following 

21 



The First American 

within cry of the hounds. They kept to the 
roads on horseback, or in Mrs. Washington's 
chariot and four, the coachman and the black 
postilion astride a forward horse, wearing the 
Washington livery of scarlet, white, and gold, 
the right colors in the leafy roads. 

The uninitiated might think Washington the 
chief figure in the fetching Virginia pageant. 
He was not, if Billy, the negro huntsman, was 
a judge. It was Billy himself, gayly dressed 
and tickled into a sensation of delight pos- 
sible only to a bedizened darky. Billy's horse, 
Chinkling, built something like his rider, low 
and sturdy — a wonderful leaper — was ambi- 
tious. It was, "Come, Music ! Come, Sweet- 
lips ! Ho ! Truelove !" The dogs pricked up 
their ears. Billy, his French-horn slung round 
his neck, black velvet cap pulled over his eyes, 
long whip gathered back in hand, mounted 
with sudden vim, threw himself nearly at length 
along Chinkling; the dust flew, the woods 
echoed with sounds of horse and blatant, ex- 
cited, negro voice, chuckling, warning, urg- 
ing on to pursuit above the mellow yelping of 
the long-tongued, hastening hounds. 

When there was a death, Washington was 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

in at it, but seven or eight times they chased 
in vain one old fox — a black. Billy expressed 
the belief that he was kin to the devil. Saucy 
Reynard flourished his vanishing brush, went 
" ten or twenty miles on end," and returned 
at night to the starting-point, fresh and ready 
for another chase. They never killed him. 

On return, the sporting party found a good 
dinner amply spread in the old-fashioned 
American — for that matter, old European — 
way, everything except dessert on the table at 
once ; beer or cider for Washington ; for the 
the others, wine, of which Washington also 
took a little. The dinner hour was three; the 
getting-ready bell rang at a quarter of three. 
The Colonel was a punctualist. As the hunt 
began at daybreak, breakfast by candle-light, 
it was probably no hardship to the ladies to 
be ready on time for dinner on hunting days. 
There were no belated dinner Quests among: 
them such as we moderns have sometimes 
known. 

In the cool damp kennel, about a hundred 
yards from the old family burying-vault, the 
hounds had a noisy feeding, lapping and snap- 
ping and snarling, a cheery sound with a rip- 

23 



The First American 

pling undertone accompaniment from the 
spring of running water in the midst of the 
rude paled-in enclosure. They were high-bred 
animals. Colonel Washington visited them 
twice a day. Lucky dogs ! 

Billy's rival in importance was Bishop, an 
" Englishman," a " biggety " light mulatto from 
England, Colonel Washington's body-servant 
and chief of stables. To Billy's taste, Bishop 
was overfond of talking of his " sarvice in two 
wars," of America, and of " those outlandish 
countries," Europe; too fond of cackling his 
ideas of the superiority of native English to 
colonials. Bishop was a fine old creature spoil- 
ed. It was a rare treat to hear his account of 
the last words of General Braddock, in whose 
service as valet he had come over from Ens:- 
land. At Braddock's defeat, the brave, fool- 
hardy General, mortally wounded, regretful 
not to have taken young Washington's ad- 
vice, which might possibly have saved him 
defeat, tender-hearted, bethought him of his 
faithful valet. 

" Bishop," said he, " you are getting too old 
for war. I advise you to remain in America 
and go into the service of Colonel Washing- 

24 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

ton. Be as faithful to him as you have been 
to me, and you may rely upon it that the re- 
mainder of your days will be well cared for and 
happy." 

Bishop was faithful. Washington had a 
grateful heart, as witnessed by the make-up of 
his households and many things not " writ in 
water." Bishop became a power among the 
servants at Mount Vernon. His service in 
two wars gave him moral right to authority. 
He was a good deal of a martinet. He visited 
the stables before sunrise, and applied a piece 
of white muslin to the horses' coats ; if a bit 
of stain showed upon it, he was rude to the 
stable-boys. 

In Southern homes it was never the fashion 
to speak of slaves as slaves ; they were negroes 
or servants. Washington called his slaves 
" my people." There were forty-nine of his 
people in 1760; eighty-nine in 1770; one 
hundred and thirty-five in 1774. He hired 
white servants also, and a number of Euro- 
pean stewards and laborers, who came over 
under contract. 

The housekeeping was conducted with the 
delicious ease, pleasant to think of, that 



The First American 

makes a house seem to keep itself. Each of 
the army of servants had a specified work. 
Mrs. Washington came in often to see the 
spinning negro women — sixteen wheels going 
at once. Very pretty stuffs they made, heavy 
and light, for Mrs. Washington as well as for 
the servants. Two of her attractive home- 
spun dresses were of cotton striped with silk 
ravelled from old brown silk stockings and 
crimson damask chair -covers. The lady 
knew the proper price of household articles ; 
carried a bunch of jingling keys at her pretty 
waist, slender in those days. Clad in dainti- 
nesses that make beauty even where it is not, 
she embroidered much. She was prayerful. 
She was gay. Well educated, as education 
for women went. In her letters her sentences 
are easily and well turned, the irrelevant 
capitals delightful. Her life had a sky that 
was not only round, but limitless. Religion 
gave to her all the vista that any woman 
needs, allowing her the use of her talents, 
those of an industrious housewife and grace- 
ful grande dame. 

The house remained during these twenty 
years very much as Lawrence Washington 

26 




"MRS. WASHINGTON CAME IN OFTEN TO SEE THE SPINNING 
NEGRO WOMEN " 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

left it — plain, square, with not more than 
eight rooms and attic. To its substantial, 
comfortable furniture Washington added, 
soon after marriage, busts of his favorite 
heroes — Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, 
Charles XII. of Sweden, the King of Prussia, 
Prince Eugene, and the Duke of Marlborough 
— military, you observe. 

Frail Patsy died, just budding into woman- 
hood, in 1773. Washington, self-contained in 
public, was affectionate ; he tenderly loved 
Patsy. He knelt by the bed praying for her 
recovery, not perceiving that the breath 
already had left her body. She had been 
devoted to her step-father, and left him her 
entire fortune, consisting solely of money. 
To comfort his wife he stayed away from an 
important political engagement — a journey 
with Lord Dunmore. 

The next year wayward, half-spoiled Jacky 
married a strip of a girl when he himself was 
but a boy. On account of Jack's youth, the 
Colonel objected beforehand, but gave in 
gracefully to the inevitable. Mrs. Washing- 
ton, in mourning for Patsy, could not attend 
the wedding, but sent by the Colonel a dainty 

27 



The First A m erica n 

note of welcome to the bride, and gave to the 
newly married couple the next day, at Mount 
Vernon, an infair. 

Bishop was growing old. Billy had the 
satisfaction of replacing him as body-servant. 

Old Mr. Mason, Washington's neighbor of 
Gunston Hall, was a vestryman of Pohick 
church. So was Washington. The church 
grew too ancient for use. A new one was to 
be built. At the vestry meeting there was a 
disagreement; Mr. Mason was firm in ad- 
vocating one site, Colonel Washington firm 
in advocating another. The meeting ad- 
journed to a later day for time to consider. 
The second meeting took place. With elo- 
quence Mr. Mason pleaded the tender associa- 
tions connected with the old site, endeared, 
he was sure, to every member of Truro Parish 
by memories most hallowed and sweet. There 
was sympathy. Mr. Mason perorated perhaps 
with faltering voice. Everybody was touched; 
minds were about made up. 

Colonel Washington unfolded a paper. It 
contained exact measurements he had person- 
ally made of the distance from Mr. Mason's 
hallowed spot to everybody's house in the 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

parish, and distances from everybody's house 
in the parish to Colonel Washington's site, and 
ended with a sum in arithmetic showing which 
caused the most people the least trouble. 

Colonel Washington's site carried. 

A laughable exhibition this of the quality 
that, as much as any other, brought about 
Washington's public and private success — his 
unresting ability to give himself pains. Steps 
from the sublime to the ridiculous are easily 
taken, but of the rare step upward from ridicu- 
lous to sublime there is no better illustration 
than in Washington's exactness. His faults 
were his virtues turned wrong side out. 

Weightier questions submitted themselves 
to Washington's genius; but we turn to the 
house and household at Mount Vernon as we 
find them after the Revolution. 

When Washington left Mount Vernon in 
1775, a delegate to the second Congress in 
Philadelphia, he was an eminent Virginian, 
widely spoken of in America, known by repu- 
tation to the authorities in England. After 
an absence of eight years less three days he 
returned, a famed conqueror, praised of the 

world; Kings whose power his success threat- 

29 



The First American 

ened proclaiming, too, his greatness — Louis 
XVI. of France, Carlos IV. of Spain, Fred- 
erick the Great, and the rulers of far China 
and Siam, their applause not drowning that 
of the great of England, his foe. 

It was on Christmas eve that Washington 
drew near to the gates of Mount Vernon, his 
true, dear wife beside him in the chaise. The 
sun was setting; the air, unusual, kind and 
sweet, half like a May day. On horseback, 
three aides — Colonel Humphreys, Colonel 
Smith, and Colonel Walker — accompanied 
him. Ahead of them Billy rode to announce 
the arrival to Bishop, now a white-haired pen- 
sioner of eighty, living at ease in the cottage 
built for him especially. The excited, trem- 
bling old man got at once into full regimentals, 
the musty, moth-eaten uniform he had worn 
as a British soldier " in two wars." Beside 
the road he "stood attention " as the horse- 
men and the chaise advanced, his time-tinted 
uniform a grateful bit of scarlet in the leafless 
landscape. He made the salute with his old 
cocked hat. His slender, light mulatto daugh- 
ter, a beauty, stood beside him and dropped a 
curtsy, the color mounting to her cheek. The 

3° 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

General and Lady Washington stopped gra- 
ciously to ask " how they did." 

Mrs. Washington's conduct, kind and patri- 
cian, as well as plucky, had won her the title 
of " Lady " from the army. She had more to 
do than was easily done to welcome and 
provide for the humble and the eminent that 
flocked to Mount Vernon to greet the risen 
neighbor. 

It was a gleeful Yule-tide, when many a 
glass of palate-tickling "methigler"* found 
its easy way to the shining negroes; and no 
doubt, among the guests, many a glass of 
" peach-and-honey "f testified the good quality 
of Lady Washington's receipts. 

Nature was thoughtful of Washington in 
many ways. She had purposely tried him at 
Valley Forge to show how great it was pos- 
sible for an American to be. Now, the happy 
Christmas over, and guests arriving too plenti- 
fully, she put a sudden stop to balminess, and 
piled snows around Mount Vernon deep and 

* The popular pronunciation of metheglin, a drink 
made of fermented honey, spices, and water. 

t Peach brandy sweetened with honey, without other 
ingredient — -an " old Virginia " beverage. 

3i 



The First American 

constant enough to keep off inquiring friends 
for as much as six weeks. This gave Colo- 
nel Humphreys and Colonel Smith a better 
chance to do the work for which they had 
accompanied the General to Mount Vernon 
— the arrangement of his Revolutionary docu- 
ments. 

Colonel Humphreys was a poet. Colonel 
Smith was no poet, and had no special fond- 
ness for live poets. When the desk-work was 
over and they needed to stretch their limbs, 
they usually did so in different directions. If 
he liked, Colonel Humphreys was permitted 
to address the " verdant hills " covered with 
snow, undisturbed by an audience. 

Colonel Smith's constitutional brought him 
one day to petted old Bishop's domain, where, 
not far from the cottage, Sarah, his daughter, 
was milking. Her figure looked frail as she 
stooped to pick up the pail, which, foaming 
to the top with warm-smelling milk, was too 
heavy for her. " Do, miss, permit my strong 
arms to assist you," said the gallant New York 
Colonel, striding quickly up to her. 

Of handsome young British officers old 
Bishop had told awful tales to Sarah, and 

32 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

why should not these warning tales apply to 
handsome young American officers as well ? 
She shrieked, threw down the milk, spatter- 
ing the Colonel from cocked hat to boot toe, 
and ran to the house, screaming all the way. 
The sputtering Colonel followed, talking anx- 
iously. 

Old Bishop appeared in the doorway. In 
a dramatic manner he held out his arms to 
his daughter, and roared to the expostulating 
Colonel: " I'm a-goin' to tell the General ! I'm 
a-goin' right straight an' tell the General." 

The Colonel explained his harmless kind- 
ness. 

"I'm a-goin' to tell the madam, too — the 
madam, the same as raised my child !" con- 
tinued the old fellow, wagging his head, too 
deaf or too angry to hear. Fussing and fum- 
ing, he pushed his daughter before him, 
stepped inside, and slammed the door in the 
Colonel's face. 

Colonel Smith said a word or two to the 
empty air. 

He sought Billy. Billy was growing old ; 
his head, we are told, was like a bunch of old 
sheep's wool, and he had been crippled by an 

c 33 



Tb e First A m eric an 

accident, but his tongue had not lost its Afri- 
can honey. 

" It's bad enough, Billy," said the Colonel, 
"for this story to get to the General's ears, 
but for the lady to hear it will never do. 
Then there's Humphreys; he'll be out upon 
me in a damned long poem that will spread 
my misfortunes from Dan to Beersheba." 

Billy was sent ambassador to the " English- 
man." He met Bishop, gorgeously equipped 
in the red uniform of " two wars," going in 
state to lay his affair before the General and 
Lady Washington. Powerful arguments pre- 
vailed. Mollified by whatever Billy had said, 
Bishop returned to his cottage. Colonel 
Smith made a point of remembering its lo- 
cality, to keep away, and gave Billy a guinea. 

When the snows melted, visitors came again 
in flocks. Hospitality before the Revolution, 
though constant, had left Mrs. Washington 
time to be hostess as well as housewife. Now 
she would have been but a tavern-keeper had 
she continued unassisted to manage domes- 
tic details. George Washington made it his 
office to obtain for her a housekeeper or 
steward. 

34 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

There were now four grandchildren. Their 
father, Jack Custis, was dead, but not before 
he had had the ineffable pleasure of seeing 
the British" march out, colors cased in sur- 
render, between the ranks of our victorious 
arms at Yorktown. Jack's widow was married 
again. Washington adopted two of Jack's 
children, George and Nelly. Usually the 
other two were also at Mount Vernon. 

The house grew too small. Washington 
minutely planned, in the spring of 1784, and 
superintended, the additions and alterations 
that changed it into its present appearance. 
He made it nearly a story higher, and added 
on one side a library, with so many secret 
cupboards for storage that it is " a room within 
a room." Bedrooms and closets were built 
on the floors above. On the other side of the 
house was added a spacious drawing-room, its 
ceiling the height of two floors — a room used 
on occasion as banqueting-hall. The family 
dining-room and two smaller parlors within 
the old, the middle part of the house, were ex- 
quisitely frescoed in faint shades and gold. 
There is uncertain tradition that the walls of 
the large drawing-room were papered. Dur- 

35 



The First American 

ing Lafayette's visit invitations were out, it is 
said, for a ball in his honor. A handsome 
imported paper was to hang. The paperers 
failed to appear. Lafayette himself, assisted 
by the household, put it up in time for the 
ball. The authority for the story is unknown to 
the writer. It is in keeping with the character 
of the generous, helpful, broad-minded man, 
who knew why we are given two hands — 
that we may do our own tasks of sword 
or needle or pen, and, immediately when 
opportunity asks, the undone task of any- 
body. 

The enlarged house was now a " mansion," 
a far cry from the four-room cottage in which 
Washington was born, if many historians are 
right; and one likes to think they are right 
— it shows better the stuff of which the first 
American was made. From each side of the 
house, on the west front, graceful semicircular 
arcades led to the kitchen on the left and an 
out-house on the right, leaving a court in the 
centre, surrounded by carriage drives. The 
house was entirely of wood, cut in imitation 
of stone, painted white, the blinds a very dark 



36 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

It was after the Revolution, in August, 1 784, 
that Lafayette returned from Europe and gave 
Washington the first opportunity to welcome 
him at Mount Vernon. Lafayette was as lov- 
able a young hero as any whose heart has 
been touched with fire celestial. Grave for 
his years, there had been an instant bond be- 
tween Washington and himself, equals in no- 
bility of soul, though Lafayette was less pre- 
scient, less wise, and, alas, in his country's af- 
fairs, less successful. Americans wished him 
every happiness. His name is a happiness to 
the American that reads of him. 

The French minister, the Comte de Mous- 
tier, and his very French sister, the Marquise 
de Brienne, visited later. In a letter Wash- 
ington says he does not appreciate Madame 
la Marquise's penchant for fondling negro 
babies. 

The clergy did not forget their ancient wel- 
come. Among them was the now discredited 
Mr. Weems, the more-than-half-good, volatile 
person, apt at dropping into sentimental he- 
roics, who in his history applied the cherry- 
tree story to Washington. The incident is 
said to have been copied bodily from an old 

37 



The First American 

biography of some other man. (See Lodge's 
Life of Washington) 

When a man becomes great, his govern- 
ment ought to build him a private museum. 
Washington needed one in which to bestow 
the handsome and odd presents that arrived 
— an engraving of Louis XVI., sent by that 
King; a Masonic apron embroidered by the 
Marquise Lafayette ;* a pair of asses from the 
King of Spain ; two very full sets of Sevres 
china; a miniature ship .fifteen feet long; a 
puncheon of Jamaica rum ; portraits of him- 
self ; Chinese pagodas. The overgrown cab- 
bages and freak watermelons that came were 
no doubt numberless. 

The house, which before had probably 
lacked bric-a-brac and pictures more than 
anything else, soon filled up luxuriously. 

Lafayette, returning to France, sent a pack 
of troublesome blooded hounds, huge and sav- 
age enough to attack a wild -boar. Indepen- 

* Not to be confounded with another apron, also 
wrought in France, and presented by Watson (Elkanah) 
and Cassoul. After Washington's death one of these 
aprons came to the Grand Lodge of Pennsylvania, the 
other to Lodge No. 22, at Alexandria, Va. 

3S 



Childhood and Life at Mount Vernon 

dent big Vulcan went into the kitchen, and 
ran away with a smoking fat ham cooked to 
a turn for a dinner party that was serving. 
General Washington, like a man, laughed at 
the mishap. Lady Washington did not. 

But the hunting days, as well as the dan- 
cing, were over for Washington. The last 
hunt was in 1785. The dogs were sold; the 
kennel abolished. A deer-park was estab- 
lished on the water-front. The Presidential 
days arrived. 



part mr 

IN NEW YORK 



THE seat of the national government in 
1 789 was in New York city. The first 
election under the present Constitution 
was held in February of that year. It was 
known before the counting of the electoral 
votes that Washington was elected. Before 
the official announcement of his election he 
wrote, March 30, 1789, to James Madison in 
Congress : 

I take the liberty of requesting a favor of you to en- 
gage lodgings for me previous to my arrival. Mr. Lear, 
who has lived with me three years as a private secretary, 
will accompany or precede me in the stage; and Colonel 
Humphreys, I presume, will be of my party. On the 
subject of lodgings, I will frankly declare to you, that I 
mean to go into none but hired ones. If these cannot 
be had tolerably convenient (for I shall not be nice about 
them), I would take rooms in the most decent tavern till 
a house can be provided for the more permanent recep- 
tion of the President. I have already declined a very 
polite and pressing invitation from the Governor [of New 
York, Clinton] to lodge at his house, till a place could be 

43 



The First American 

prepared for me ; after which, should any other offer of 
a similar nature be made, there could be no propriety in 
my acceptance of it. 

Window-panes broke with the joyous firing, 
bunting floated from house and tree, and all 
sorts of merrymaking stuff showed the senti- 
ments of New York when Washing-ton entered. 
At night wonderful transparencies at Don 
Gardoqui's, the Spanish minister's, tried to 
outshine the French minister's decorations de- 
signed by fantastic-artistic Madame de Brienne. 
The Quakers alone and the anti-Federalists 
(those opposed to the adoption of the Consti- 
tution) were silent, except when the latter 
quarrelled about their broken windows. 

The President found a house prepared and 
furnished by order of Congress for his use. A 
fine dinner awaited him. The cook lamented 
wasted art ; the President dined with the Gov- 
ernor. 

At his inaugural Washington announced 
that, as in the Revolution, he would allow only 
his expenses to be paid, would receive no sal- 
ary. Yielding to the plea of relieving less 
wealthy successors of the embarrassment of 
this example, he consented, afterwards, to re- 

4+ 




8 ": 

as ill \ 

£-13 W\|l 




In New York 

ceive a yearly salary of $25,000, which he used 
at once in expenses incident to the office and 
in entertaining. 

The house selected was that on the corner 
of Cherry and Franklin streets, near Franklin 
Square, referred to varyingly as No. 10 and as 
No. 3 Cherry Street, and known as the Frank- 
lin House. It was the property of Mrs. Sam- 
uel Osgood, wife of one of the two members 
of Congress deputed to select a Presidential 
residence. It came into her possession through 
her first husband, Walter Franklin, the build- 
er, a deceased merchant prince of New York. 
One of the largest, finest houses in the city, 
though not in the most fashionable quarter, it 
had been rented formerly as residence for the 
presidents of Congress. Small idea of it can 
be had from anything but a picture or an in- 
ventory ; descriptions of it differ as widely as 
the describers. Quakers called it the " Pal- 
ace." The French minister, writing to his 
home government, spoke of it as a " humble 
dwelling " ; the simple were impressed with 
its elegance; the elegant with its simplicity. 

The house was of brick, of three stories, 
amply lighted by many well-sized, small-paned 

45 



The First American 

windows. There was a heavy brass knocker 
on the single-panelled door in Cherry Street, 
the main entrance, reached by short flights of 
steps, one at each side of a tiny porch. A 
vestibule projecting from the house formed the 
entrance on Franklin Street. It was, for a 
private citizen, a large house, though simple, 
substantial. It was well fitted up. For re- 
pairs and refurnishing, Congress paid Mr. Os- 
good $8000. 

A Quakeress, Mrs. Sarah Robinson, niece 
of Walter Franklin, the builder of the house, 
wrote to a friend or relative : 

April 30th of the fourth month, i7Sg. 
. . . Great rejoicing in New York on the arrival of Gen- 
eral Washington. . . . Previous to his coming, Uncle 
Walter's house in Cherry Street was taken for him, and 
every room furnished in the most elegant manner. Aunt 
Osgood and Lady Duer had the whole management of 
it. I went the morning before the General's arrival to 
look at it. The best of furniture in every room, and the 
greatest quantity of plate and china I ever saw ; the whole 
of the first and second stories is papered, and the floors 
covered with the richest kind of Turkey and Wilton car- 
pets. The house did honor to my aunts and Lady Kitty ; 
they spared no pains nor expense on it. Thou must 
know that Uncle Osgood and Duer were appointed to 
procure a house and furnish it. Accordingly they pitch- 

46 



In New York 

ed on their wives as being likely to do it better. I have 
not yet done, my dear. Is thee not almost tired ? . . . 
There is scarcely anything talked about now but General 
Washington and the Palace. 

Lady Kitty, sweet wife to Congressman 
Duer, was daughter of Lord Sterling (so called, 
though his title was never recognized), a good 
American and a famous Revolutionary general. 

In addition to the complete furniture, in- 
cluding china and plate selected by " my aunts 
and Lady Kitty," the President brought on by 
sea from Mount Vernon a quantity of pictures, 
vases, ornaments, Sevres china, and silver. 
Chancellor Livingston's handsome residence, 
containing many works of art, costly orna- 
ments, and Gobelin tapestries, was one of the 
few more elegantly fitted out than that of the 
President. 

Washington was a diplomat. By quiet in- 
sistence he gained his points. Though the 
Senate readily acquiesced in his wish that his 
inaugural address be delivered at his residence, 
the members of the House of Representatives 
desired him to go to the House to receive 
their answer; they were persistent; but so 
was Washington, and with form and ceremony, 

47 



The First American 

the mace carried first by the proper person, 
the House, as well as the Senate, delivered 
its address at the President's residence. By 
systematically requiring governmental and 
political personages that wished to address 
him to go to him, he made his home the Ex- 
ecutive Mansion. 

The house was really too small for public 
purposes, and for Washington's big " family," 
in which term he included accompanying ex- 
aides and private secretaries — five in all — as 
well as his foster-children, Nelly and George 
Washington Parke Custis. What for offices 
and reception-rooms, poor young Nelson, pri- 
vate secretary, and Robert Lewis, the Presi- 
dent's nephew and secretary, had to sleep in 
the room with the poet, Colonel Humphreys, 
who lucubrated at dead of night. Lewis's and 
Nelson's sufferings were considerable. Hum- 
phreys was translating " The Widow of Mal- 
abar, or the Tyranny of Custom," a tragic 
French effusion. When lights were out and 
everything quiet, he would spring out of bed, 
and with crafty gestures — awful if the moon 
came in to show them — " render," asking the 
opinions of Nelson and Lewis. 

4 8 



In New York 

Mrs. Washington arrived a month later than 
the President. Systematic entertaining did 
not begin until her coming. There were levees, 
dinners, and Drawing Rooms, with pretty cere- 
mony, oiled with wealth and sustained with 
dignity. 

The President's time was overrun with hand- 
shakers, politicians, friends, and foreigners. 
He was compelled to institute certain hours 
for receptions, or levees, and to provide — which 
provoked comment as " aristocratical " — that 
seeing him should be prearranged. The 
levees were appointed at first for two days 
weekly — Tuesday and Friday — from two to 
three; later for one day only, Tuesday, from 
three to four. None were expected whose 
standing was not of a certain importance, and 
no ladies. The President had confidence in 
Colonel Humphreys, who had been an efficient 
officer and aide-de-camp during the Revolu- 
tion ; his name is prominent in history, mili- 
tary and civil. We do not come across a 
critique by Washington on his poetry. Dur- 
ing the first imperfect union of the indepen- 
dent States, Colonel Humphreys had been our 

secretary of legation at Paris, and " had seen 
D 49 



The First American 

the wheels go round." To him the President 
left principally the arranging of any neces- 
sary ceremony connected with the reception 
of guests at the levees. Jefferson records in 
a letter to Madison the story that this is what 
Humphreys did: He arranged an antecham- 
ber and a presence-room. In the presence- 
room the guests assembled. Humphreys walk- 
ed through the antechamber, followed by the 
President. The door of the presence -room 
was thrown wide open. Humphreys entered 
first, and in a loud tone exclaimed, 

" The President of the United States!" 

Washington was greatly disconcerted, and 
did not recover himself throughout the levee. 

When the guests were gone, said he to 
Humphreys, 

" Well, you have taken me in once, but," 
emphatically, " you shall never take me in a 
second time." 

Afterwards he stood in a room from which 
the chairs had been removed, and received, 
as the guests came up to him, their silent bow. 
They ranged themselves in a semicircle. He 
did not shake hands ; one hand held his 
cocked hat, the other probably rested on the 

So 



In New York 

hilt of the finely tempered sword in its pol- 
ished white leathern scabbard, whose tip 
gleamed from beneath his black velvet coat. 
At a quarter after three the doors were closed, 
and the President made a tour of the gentle- 
men, talking to each in turn. He remem- 
bered names and faces remarkably. 

Once a week — on Thursday, at four in the 
afternoon — state dinners were given. Then 
Fraunces, the steward, " Black Sam " — his 
complexion was very dark, though he was 
not a negro — aired his wonderful knowledge 
of solid and fancy cooking and his ability to 
make others work. From ten to twenty-two 
persons were expected besides the "family." 
The private secretaries were always included. 
" Black Sam's " fine dishes of roast beef, veal, 
lamb, turkey, duck, and varieties of game, and 
his many other inviting viands, and the jelly, 
the fruits, the nuts and raisins — the body of 
the dinner, in short — were placed, before the 
guests came in, upon the table, with careful 
respect to appearance. Upon the central 
table ornament, sometimes a long mirror 
made in sections and framed in silver, were 
" chaste mythological statuettes." A piece of 

51 



The First American 

bread was placed below each napkin. The 
china and linen were fine. Washington had 
excellent champagne, though for himself a sil- 
ver mug for beer stood at his plate. The 
waiters, five or six or more in number, wore 
the brilliant Washington livery, and served 
with quiet and precision. We hope they al- 
lowed more time to each course than is usu- 
ally allowed at ceremonious dinners in Wash- 
ington to-day, else talkative guests went away 
hungry. 

The President did not sit at the head of 
the table, but at the side, in the middle ; Mrs. 
Washington, oddly, sat at the head, on his 
right ; Mr. Lear, private secretary, at the foot. 
The ladies, instead of being escorted to the 
drawing - room, left the gentlemen at table. 
Judging from descriptions in old letters, the 
dinners were not gladsome. Their dulness 
must have been properly effective with for- 
eign ministers. At the tables of sovereigns 
in Europe they were not expected to smile 
unless the sovereign became tickled, when a 
wise courtier was amused instantly and vastly. 
This is the usage, we believe, to-day. Europe 
holds to antiquities. 



|P»T" 




WASHINGTON AM) MRS. GENERAL GREENE 



In New York 

To the state dinners none but persons of 
distinction were invited. This does not mean 
that no former tradespeople were present. 
America at the start showed what she could 
do with humble beginnings. A signally hon- 
ored guest was Mrs. Greene, widow of Gen- 
eral Greene, ci-devant blacksmith. She never 
came to dinner, or of a morning to "wait 
upon " Mrs. Washington, that the President 
did not assist her to her chariot, handing her 
in with the honor-bestowing bow that calam- 
ity-predicting politicians found fault with : too 
stately; sure evidence we were going to the 
demnition bow-wows, and becoming a mon- 
archy. 

An invitation from the President or his 
wife was evidently not, as now, considered a 
command, politely necessitating the breaking 
of an interfering engagement. Washington 
enumerated in his diary on Thursdays the 
names of his dinner guests. On Thursday, 
July i, 1790, he adds: 

" The Chief Justice and his lady, General 
Schuyler, and Mrs. Izard were also invited, 
but were otherwise engaged." 

There were frequent dinner guests besides 
53 



The First American 

those of Thursday. The children had their 
young friends with them. To dine with his 
playmate George Washington Parke Custis, 
the little Buchanan boy (Dr. W. W. Bu- 
chanan) was frequently fetched on Saturdays 
in the President's cream-colored coach, drawn 
by cream - colored horses with white manes. 
Chance visitors were hospitably bidden to 
dinner or to tea, for Washington carried into 
public life his generous ideas of hospitality, 
entertaining oftener than has any other Presi- 
dent. 

On Friday evenings Mrs'. Washington held 
a Drawing Room from seven till nine.* La- 
ter, in Philadelphia, the time was a little ex- 
tended. These, with the dinners — and there 
were sometimes no ladies at the latter besides 
Mrs. Washington — were nigh the only oppor- 
tunity the curious lady folk had to see the 
President. At seven o'clock on Friday even- 
ings, carrying neither sword nor hat, as being 
unofficially present, the President took his 
stand beside Mrs. Washington. The ladies, 
attended always by gentlemen, came in, curt- 

* The Drawing Rooms are varyingly stated to have be- 
gun at seven and at eight. 

54 



In New York 

sied low and silently, and sat down. When 
they ceased to arrive, the President walked 
about and talked to the interested women. 
No very young girls came — those only that 
had formally entered the social world. Even- 
ing dress was de vigucur. Besides the distin- 
guished Jefferson, Hamilton, and Knox of the 
cabinet, Madison and other historic person- 
ages, Van Berkel glittered on the scene — the 
Dutch charge — "gaudy as a peacock." Sit- 
ting bolt-upright in a high-back chair, pretty, 
easeful Lady Temple, wonderfully preserved 
for her forty-odd years, smiled her slow smile. 
To catch the soft voice of a dainty woman, 
who was no doubt boring him, deaf Sir John 
Temple bent down, a hand to his ear. These, 
with the not altogether popular French minis- 
ter and sister, and a few other foreigners, gave 
a touch of the cosmopolitan, a good condi- 
ment when the body of the mixture is suf- 
ficiently pure and native. 

The chandeliers, their myriad candles burn- 
ing softly in high transparent globes, hung 
low. Miss Mclvers's fashionable head-dress, 
monstrous tall, caught fire one evening as she 
stood beneath the lights. Miss Mclvers was 

55 



The First American 

a belle. Major Jackson rushed to the rescue, 
clapped the burning plumes in his hands, and 
saved the lady as gallantly as possible. There 
was no undue rustling of stiff brocades or ruf- 
fling of pretty manners. It was then, as now, 
good form for ladies to be perturbed only by 
mice and cows. 

Tea and coffee and varied refreshments on 
different tables in the rooms were served by 
the gayly liveried waiters. 

The President's and Mrs. Washington's 
well - chosen costumes add a orace to the 

o 

thought of their at - homes. The beauty of 
Washington's purple satin or drab broadcloth 
or black velvet knee-breeches and coat, set off 
with pearl satin waistcoat, fine linen and lace, 
and shining buckles, brought out by contrast 
the man's strength of face and form. The 
fashion of Mrs. Washington's gown, and the 
peculiar head-dress known, according to Wat- 
son's Annals, as the " Queen's Nightcap," 
added height to her appearance, and so to the 
stately impression made by her gentle dignity. 
The President was occupied from four 
o'clock in the morning — your poet might 
tell you that he sees the effect in Washing- 

56 



r 



„ < — 



: >4\ ' 




MISS McIVERS S FASHIONABLE HEAD-DRESS CAUGHT FIRE 



ill New York 

ton's character of the solemn, solitary hours 
of dawn — until nine at night. He walked, 
rode, or drove every day if the weather al- 
lowed. Occasionally went to the theatre — 
now and then giving a theatre party — and to 
dancing assemblies, though he no longer 
danced. He called informally upon a fa- 
vored few — a custom sometimes discarded 
by Presidents as creating jealousies. Presi- 
dent Arthur accepted dinner invitations and 
made calls. President McKinley a few 
months ag^o visited his friend General Has- 
tings, who, hurt by an accident, was ill at the 
Emergency Hospital in Washington. As re- 
corded in his diary, President Washington 
called on Governor Clinton, Mr. Schuyler, 
Mrs. Dalton, Chancellor Livingston ; went 
afoot to pay a visit to Mrs. King; with Mrs. 
Washington "waited upon" the French min- 
ister and his sister on the eve of their depart- 
ure to France; "drank tea with the Chief- 
Justice of the United States"; and he fre- 
quently, witfi Mrs. Washington, visited Vice- 
President Adams and his fashionable wife, 
whose spicy letters and diary brighten the 
pages of history. President Washington ac- 

57 



The First American 

cepted, also, from other than cabinet minis- 
ters, a few invitations to dinner, which invi- 
tations usually included Mrs. Washington and 
all the adults of the "family" — aides, secre- 
taries, and tutor. Sundays, after going to 
church, he spent writing private letters. 

In 1789 Christmas fell upon a Friday. 
This did not prevent the holding of the 
Drawing Room, held also on a Good -Fri- 
day, though "sparcely" attended. 

On New- Year's day, in the morning the 
house was gay with the courtly costumes of 
gentlemen calling. Writes Washington in 
his diary: 

The Vice-President, the Governor, the Senators, Mem- 
bers of the House of Representatives in town, foreign 
public characters, and all the respectable citizens came 
between the hours of twelve and three o'clock, to pay 
the compliments of the season to me; and in the after- 
noon a great number of gentlemen and ladies visited 
Mrs. Washington on the same occasion. 

It was beautiful enough within, but the 
Washington household suffered the discom- 
forts of living: in New York.* The streets, 

* Memorial History, City of New York, edited by 
James Grant Wilson. 

53 



In New York 

only one of them (partly) paved, ill lighted, 
and dirty, were ragged with mixed ugly and 
good houses. In the whole city there was 
one source only of drinking-water — a pump 
in Chatham Street. Water was hawked 
about in drays. There were no sewers. At 
a late hour of the evening dark figures filed 
out of Washington's gate. A swinging fiat 
step and a sinuous movement of the body al- 
lowed not a drop to fall from the heavy tubs 
balanced fearfully on hard African heads. 
The dusky Graces, on their way to the river, 
joined long lines of other slaves bearing like 
burdens — moving statues of "Night" and 
" Placid Ignorance at Work." They were 
the " sewerage system." 

The President's fine cream-colored coach 
arrived while he lived in the Franklin house. 
Capacious, it was ponderous, but beautiful* — 
the " Four Seasons " painted on its panels, the 
Washington coat of arms on the doors. Six 
shining bay horses drew it when he drove to 
Federal Hall to deliver his first message to 
Congress; a liveried footman stood behind; 

* Memorial History, City of New York, edited by James 
Grant Wilson. 

59 



The First American 

a proud coachman sat on the box; while pre- 
ceding, on high-stepping white steeds, rode 
Colonel Humphreys and Major Jackson; Mr. 
Lear and young Nelson, equally well mounted, 
galloped in the rear. How fine to have seen 
them turn a corner ! The Quakers were open- 
mouthed " dissenters," as were very many New- 
Englanders. The kodak eyes of beholders, 
omitting no detail in paper transcript, give 
us opportunity still to admire the vanishing 
splendor, and to observe that our greatest 
General and most renowned President, the 
handsomest picture, had the prettiest framing 
of them all. 

In the Franklin house in October, 1789, 
Washington wrote, at the request of Con- 
gress, the first Thanksgiving proclamation, 
setting apart a Thursday in November. The 
people of the United States have always 
thanked God for the liberties they enjoy, and 
they thank Washington too. 

It was in the Franklin house that the Presi- 
dent laid before a cabinet meeting the letter 
from Louis XVI., written on receiving a copy 
of the Constitution sent him in the name of 
the nation. " France shall hereafter be gov- 

60 



In New York 

erned by its principles," wrote the afterwards 
so unfortunate King, promising what his an- 
cestors had taken from him the opportunity 
to perform. Washington lived but ten months 
in the Franklin house — from April 23, 1789, 
to February 23, 1790. He paid rent for two 
months longer. A larger house was to be 
had — that lately occupied by De Moustier. 

To make room for improvements, the 
Franklin house was demolished in 1856. Its 
site is near that of the publishing house of 
Harper & Brothers, and is marked by a bronze 
tablet sunk into the pier of the Brooklyn 
Bridge. 

Washington writes in his diary : 

Monday, i2d\_Fcbrnary, 1790]. 
Set seriously about removing my furniture to my new 
house. Two of the gentlemen of the family had their 
beds taken there, and would sleep there to-night. 

We wonder if the gentlemen were Messrs. 
Nelson and Lewis, escaping from the poet. 

The second Presidential dwelling in New 
York, called the Mansion House, was the Ma- 
comb residence on Broadway, at No. 39.* Tra- 

* There has been some dispute about the location of 
61 



The First American 

dition declares the spot that on which Chris- 
tiaensen, the adventurous Dutch voyager and 
fur-trader, built, in about 1615, the rude huts 
and redoubt that were the first buildings on 
Manhattan Island. It is said Benedict Ar- 
nold, during the Revolution, held one of 
his traitorous meetings with poor young 
Andre in the Macomb house; but this is a 
mistake, as the house was not erected till 
1786. It was built in that year as a resi- 
dence for himself, along with the adjoining 
houses, by Alexander Macomb, who was a 
well-known merchant, and prominent in the 
political affairs of New York. He was the 
father of Alexander Macomb, later major- 
general commanding the army of the United 
States. 

The house, the finest private dwelling in 
the city, in the most fashionable quarter, was 

this house, arising probably from the fact that lower 
Broadway was not numbered as now till about 1790. 
But the authorities relied on in the text were correct, as 
appears from Longworth's Register, which from 1822 to 
183 1 gives Bunker's Mansion House at No. 39, and from 
the records of the Title & Guaranty Company of New 
York, which show that Alexander Macomb acquired the 
property now 39, in 1786. 

62 



Iii New York 

a story higher than the Franklin — four stories 
high — and larger in every way. It was of 
double brick, the front handsome. The usual 
brass knocker was on the heavy entrance- 
door, which opened immediately upon the 
street but for a short flight of steps. Long 
glass doors led from a drawing-room to the 
inviting balcony, and from the rear window 
the eye delighted in an extended view of the 
Hudson and the Jersey shore. 

The President engaged the house soon 
after the French minister's departure, waiting 
a short time to move into it till Otto, the 
charge d'affaires, found another dwelling. In 
the mean time Washington ordered a stable 
to be built at his expense. The minister's 
furniture was for sale. The President looked 
at it, and bought some large mirrors in the 
drawing-room, a combination bookcase and 
writing-desk and its easy-chair, and other 
things as being particularly suited, he says, 
to the rooms in which he found them. He 
saved Mrs. Washington much fatigue, per- 
sonally superintending a great part of the 
moving and the putting up of the furniture, 
and made notes of it in his diary. His office 

63 



The First American 

was in the mansion on the entrance-floor — a 
front room looking on Broadway. 

As scenes of signal victories in precarious 
peace, Washington's Presidential homes de- 
serve to be as well preserved as have been the 
military headquarters where were planned his 
battles. 

It was in the Macomb house that Washing- 
ton so stoutly insisted on our treaty rights 
with Great Britain, and it was here that he 
delivered his sagacious reply to Lord Dor- 
chester's unofficial communication through 
Major Beckwith. Lord Dorchester attempted 
to give orally a more promising meaning to a 
letter of his than it could hold if in evidence, 
but the Englishman found that the Ameri- 
can President was no tyro in diplomacy. He 
was not to be deceived, and did not pretend 
to be satisfied with specious glossing, however 
well he might know that nothing but force 
could bring the English to right action, and 
that we were not ready for another fight. It 
was in the Presidential homes that Washing- 
ton maintained the dignity of the young na- 
tion of which he was the official head, and 
saw to it that representatives of foreign powers 

64 



/// New York 

were permitted no too ready access to the 
Executive, nor to our domestic transactions. 
" It being conceived," he writes in his journal, 
" that etiquette of this sort is essential to all 
foreigners, to give a respect to the Chief 
Magistrate and to the dignity of the govern- 
ment." Americans needed this lesson, for 
they are inclined to be civil and generous, 
and often fail to look after their dignity in re- 
spect to foreigners, who sometimes mistake 
generosity for pusillanimity and, as Senator 
Lodge says in his biography of Washington, 
" civility for servility." 

But it was not only foreigners who were 
taught respect for the Presidential office. In 
April, 1790, Washington notes in his diary 
his decision, in which Madison agreed with 
him, not to consult the Senate on the wisdom 
of appointments, establishing a precedent. 
He was careful not to lessen the efficacy of 
his office even by seemingly harmless conces- 
sions. And yet how easily he could unbend 
when there was no occasion for stiffness. 

In the Franklin and in the Macomb resi- 
dence he invited the owners of the houses to 

dine, which was no doubt a relief to their 
e 65 



The First American 

feelings. One likes — a woman especially — to 
see to just what extent one's tenants are fear- 
fully abusing one's house. 

More than once Washington entertained 
Indians. The Creeks were troublesome in 
the South. Experience had taught Washing- 
ton the Indian's love of the trappings of per- 
sonal honor, a trait in which they equal Euro- 
peans. He sent Colonel Marinus Willett semi- 
officially to Alabama's famous Indian chief, 
Alexander McGillivray. McGillivray was part 
Scotch, part French, part Indian, well edu- 
cated, wiry, intriguing — a power in relations 
with Spain and with England, as well as with 
the United States. Willett induced McGilli- 
vray to go to New York with twenty-eight of 
his chiefs and warriors, to the President's 
" council-house," to form a treaty. Washing- 
ton instructed Willett to pet and fete them 
the entire route to New York. It was done. 
The President gave them an elegant dinner 
in the Mansion House. Trumbull, artist-lion 
of the hour, had painted a full-length portrait 
of the President. Curious to see the effect, 
Washington led the full-blooded Indians sud- 
denly into view of it. One of them advanced 

66 



In New York 

and touched the painted figure. " Ugh !" he 
grunted, with suspicion. He looked behind 
to see if it were really flat ; discovered with 
disgust that it was. Not one would permit 
Trumbull to sketch him. The President took 
an amiable walk down Broadway with the 
Indians in their savage dress, paint, and feath- 
ers ; stateliness of civilization and savage state- 
liness contrasted. The dignity of the unre- 
generate Indian was real, and yet he was 
tickled like a child with this opportunity for 
display. In the two treaties made, one of 
them secret, the President gained his points, 
though astute McGillivray made him pay 
what he thought was full price. 

To relieve the strain of his public and offi- 
cial duties, Washington sometimes went fish- 
ing. On the occasion of one of these outings 
the happy captain of the vessel that was to 
bear the Presidential party let out the secret 
to a young man named Boardman. Board- 
man was promptly at the appointed wharf 
in the rear of the President's garden. He 
waited patiently. He was at last rewarded 
by seeing the President come through the 
back yard with a member of Congress, Gen- 

67 



The First American 

eral Cadwallader, and one or two other friends. 
The alert young man, eyes and ears open, 
was close to Washington as he entered the 
vessel. 

" I heard some of his conversation in free 
and unrestrained intercourse with his com- 
panions," wrote Boardman, " but no circum- 
stances could detract from his wonderful dig- 
nity of manner and deportment. This close 
and intimate inspection only added to my 
previous idea of his character. The tones of 
his voice were deep and clear, and his smile 
peculiarly winning and pleasant. He was in 
a very different costume" from that with 
which we are familiar. " He wore a round 
hat with a very large brim, a light mulberry 
overcoat, with an undress of corresponding 
color." According to the captain, Washing- 
ton's luck in fishing was equal to Cleveland's. 

"I asked the captain if the President was 
successful as a fisherman," writes Boardman. 

" ' Yes,' the captain said ; ' all the fish come 
to his hook.' " 

The key of the Bastille was received in the 
Macomb house and hung in a glass case on its 
walls. It was sent by Lafayette to Washington 

68 



In New York 

when the hated prison had been torn down by 
the Paris mob. It gave Tom Paine the chance 
he loved to turn a neat phrase. Lafayette re- 
quested Paine, then in London, to forward 
the key to Washington. Paine complied. He 
wrote, " That the principles of America opened 
the Bastille is not to be doubted ; therefore the 
key comes to the right place." 

It was a beneficence that seemed to Wash- 
ington a misfortune that, in the first cabinet, 
the great minds of Hamilton and Jefferson 
were fired with opposite ideas. Jefferson and 
Hamilton personified the centrifugal and cen- 
tripetal forces that hold our nation in its su- 
perb middle course between the two evils — 
anarchy and monarchy. We had not been 
the free people we are had either of the par- 
ties they founded and headed — that desiring 
greater centralization of power or that uphold- 
ing States' rights — yielded supinely to the 
other. Our very existence is maintained by 
dividing parties and difference of opinion. 

One day walked Hamilton to the cabinet 

meeting at the Mansion House. He was 

wrought up profoundly. It was during the 

" Assumption " agitation. He realized what 

69 



The First American 

it meant to our young nation to yield to the 
dishonor of not paying its debts. It was not 
yet clear to all whether we were one nation or 
thirteen. In consequence of the war, certain 
States had incurred in their own names debts 
they were unable to pay. It was plain to 
Hamilton that the nation should assume these 
debts largely incurred in helping on its ex- 
istence. 

Hamilton came upon Jefferson, also on his 
way to the cabinet meeting. Steel and flint 
met, sparks flew. It took but a moment to 
plunge the two Secretaries into vital talk. It 
would have been impossible to convince these 
two men that the advocacy of their opposing 
views was as naturally indispensable to the 
welfare of the nation as positive to negative 
pole. Desiring the States to act as indepen- 
dently as possible, Jefferson opposed " As- 
sumption." They walked up and down in 
front of the house, excitedly debating for half 
an hour before they entered. 

The New York Assembly was building a 
Presidential mansion. Hamilton, a New-York- 
er, sold New York's chances to remain the 
capital. He did it to secure " Assumption." 

70 




?FPr"!JlJ3- Zl-" : "v- !«■::•-■. »« 

!*t-iL . L— r ! 



' » 







".>■■'■ 



In New York 

Some of the Southern Senators and Repre- 
sentatives yielded that point in return for the 
promise to remove the seat of government 
farther South. It was agreed in the summer 
of 1 790 that it should be transferred to Phila- 
delphia. * 

The President had built his stables, and all 
his household goods had been removed, as it 
turned out, to abide in the Macomb house but 
six months. 

Washington was not churlish, but he had 
that preference for being unobserved that de- 
velops at times into a longing in a man whose 
life is spent in public. He quitted the Ma- 
comb house on the morning of August 30, 
1790. The servants were instructed to steal 
away at dawn, to have the carriages and lug- 
gage over the ferry at Paulus Hook by sun- 
rise. By candle-light, Mrs. Washington, the 
children, and the secretaries assembled in the 
morning-room. 

The President entered, pleased with his 
stratagem. He was enjoying in prospect his 

* Assumption was finally secured by the agreement to 
remove the seat of government to what is now the city 
of Washington. 

7i 



The First American 

concealed departure. Immediately under the 
window suddenly struck up on the still morn- 
ing air the blaring, vigorous notes of an artil- 
lery band. From the highways and byways 
scurrying people appeared. To witness his 
first step outside the door a thousand gog- 
gling, affectionate eyes watched. 

"There!" cried the General, in half-comic 
despair — I cannot think altogether displeased 
— " it's all over; we are found out. Well! well ! 
they must have their own way." 

It was the "General" they waited to see, 
not the President. They lined the roadway 
from house to barge, recording every move- 
ment in observant brains. (A distinguished 
man can never know which of his audience is 
to be his biographer. It may be one of the 
"supers" on the stage rolling off the carpets.) 
The thunder of artillery could not drown the 
living shout that rose from the throats of the 
people as Washington was borne off with the 
rise and fall of the oars gleaming in the cheer- 
ful sun. His voice trembled as he bade the 
assembled crowd farewell. Though chary of 
appealing to it, the love of the people never 
failed to move him deeply. 

72 



In New York 

Deserted of its hospitable inmates, its har- 
ried statesmen, and the flurry of publicity, the 
Macomb house, though more quietly, retained 
prosperity for a time. The echo of its glory 
lingered in the name when it reached the 
boarding-house stage. It was known for many 
years as " Bunker's Mansion House," a fash- 
ionable hotel frequented by Southerners when 
splendor was still Southern. It was " improved" 
out of existence. 



part HUH 

IN PHILADELPHIA AND GERMANTOWN 



CONGRESS was to meet in Philadel- 
phia on what has since been the ac- 
customed date — the first Monday in 
December. The interim between the break- 
ing up of housekeeping in New York and the 
house-warming in Philadelphia the Washing- 
tons spent at Mount Vernon. On the way 
they stopped in Philadelphia, putting up at 
the City Tavern. 

They had had an adventurous drive in their 
comfortable coach-and-six over the wretched 
roads. Dunn the coachman was drunk or in- 
capable, and had nearly turned them over. 
John Fagan, a clear-headed Irishman, burly, 
yet clever with his fingers, took the reins, and 
left Dunn to manage the baggage -wagon, 
which he upset twice. 

Mr. Lear, secretary, tutor, and right-hand 
man, was left in New York to superintend the 
moving from the Macomb house. He sent 
the servants and furniture partly by coach 

77 



The First American 

road and partly by sea to Philadelphia. Mr. 
Lear's " salery " was two hundred dollars a 
year; his treatment in the family that of a 
man with his barony. 

During his brief stay in Philadelphia, while 
en route to Mount Vernon, the President 
wrote to Mr. Lear: 

September 2d, 1790. 
The house of Mr. Robert Morris had, previous to my 
arrival, been taken by the corporation for my residence. 
It was the best they could get. It is, I believe, the best 
single house in the city. Yet without additions it is in- 
adequate to the commodious accommodation of my 
family. These additions I believe will be made. . . . The 
intention of the addition ... is to provide a servants' 
hall, and one or two lodging - rooms for the servants. 
There are good stables, but for twelve horses only, and 
a coach-house which will hold all my carriages. 

The Legislature of Pennsylvania was erect- 
ing a Presidential mansion. Washington saw 
it while building. On account of its great 
size he refused to occupy and furnish it when 
it should be finished, It was used as the 
University of Pennsylvania. 

The residence chosen by the City Corpora- 
tion for the President was that of his intimate, 
Robert Morris, the open-handed, open-hearted, 

78 




^#^ ".'II 

'j^fe'sws. fig g| 

if? 




In Philadelphia and Germantown 

wondrous financier of the Revolution, now 
Senator, and prime agent in locating the capi- 
tal at Philadelphia. Mrs. Morris moved into 
another of their houses, next door, to let the 
Washingtons have her home. 

The property had been owned by Governor 
Richard Penn. Morris bought it in 1785, and 
rebuilt the house, which had been partly or 
totally destroyed by fire in 1780. The orig- 
inal house had been, during the Revolution, 
the headquarters of General Howe when the 
British held Philadelphia. Benedict Arnold 
occupied it when left by Washington in com- 
mand of the Continental troops in that city in 
1778, and while here committed the pecula- 
tions and malfeasance that enabled him to live 
in the magnificent style recorded. The road 
in front became High Street, and the spread- 
ing grove was transformed into blocks of 
houses and gardens, when President Wash- 
ington came to brighten its history. 

Doing everything that promised to keep 
the seat of government in Philadelphia, the 
City Corporation insisted on paying the rent 
of the President's house. The President in- 
sisted on not allowing it. Information was 

79 



The First American 

withheld as to the rent price of the Morris 
house. The President was annoyed. He 
writes from Mount Vernon to Mr. Lear, in 
Philadelphia: 

I am, I must confess, exceedingly unwilling to go into 
any house without first knowing on what terms I do it ; 
and wish that this sentiment could be again hinted in 
delicate terms to the parties concerned with me. I can- 
not, if there are no latent motives which govern in this 
case, see any difficulty in the business. 

His determination was unmistakable. The 
rent was fixed at three thousand dollars a 
year, and Washington paid it. 

The house, No. 190, one door from the 
southeast corner of Sixth Street, was, includ- 
ing the garret, four floors in height — smaller 
than the Macomb mansion, larger than the 
Franklin. It was red brick, with three gray 
stone steps leading from the front door to the 
basement. A walled garden, bright in sum- 
mer with fruit and flowers, gave a green set- 
ting on the sides and rear. According to 
Twining, a fair-minded British traveller of 
East- Indian fame, there was a hair-dresser 

next door. Watson says there were no 

80 



I 



In Philadelphia and Germaniown 

shops in the neighborhood but Sheaff's wine- 
store. 

From the President's letter to Mr. Lear, 
who superintended the fitting up of the man- 
sion, we learn the arrangement of the interior. 
Washington apportioned the rooms immedi- 
ately after inspection in September. The two 
dining-rooms were on the first floor — in the 
rear the state dining-room, which was about 
thirty feet long, including the new bow-win- 
dow that Washington planned to project into 
the pleasant garden. He directed that the 
back yard be kept as clean as a drawing-room, 
since the view into it was uninterrupted from 
the state dining-room, where he was to hold 
his levees, and from Mrs. Washington's " best " 
drawing-room above. The steward and his 
wife lodged on the entrance floor, the closets 
in their room serving as pantries, as there 
were no closets in the dining - rooms. To 
Mrs. Washington, the children and their 
maids, the second floor was given over, the 
maids requiring also a room in the back 
building, with partition to divide it into two. 
On the second floor, in addition to the bed- 
rooms, were Mrs. Washington's dressing-room, 

F 81 



I 



The First American 

private study, and her two drawing-rooms, 
which reached from front to rear of the house. 
One had to climb two pairs of stairs to reach 
the President's office; the other rooms on 
the third floor Mr. and Mrs. Lear and the 
secretaries occupied. 

Mr. Lear had in April, before they left 
New York, brought to the Washington house- 
hold a bride — a dear little woman whom he 
had known from childhood — Mary Long, a 
rose of New Hampshire. 

Servants filled the four rooms of the garret, 
the smoke-house, the room over the work- 
house, and the lodging-rooms in the new ser- 
vants' hall. There was no lack of attendance. 

A change^ or two among the secretaries. 
Young Mr. Dandridge, Mrs. Washington's 
nephew, was a new-comer. In the selection 
of members of the President's immediate 
" family," whose salaries were paid out of his 
own much-opened purse, the ties of relation- 
ship and friendship were regarded. In ap- 
pointment to public office, Washington was 
deaf to personal reasons. 

In the autumn, when the tardy additions to 

the house were complete, Mr. Lear — we sup- 

82 



* 



In Philadelphia and Germantown 

pose also Mrs. Lear — and Mrs. Morris put 
their ideas together tastefully and comfortably 
to arrange the interior before the coming of 
the family. The President wrote some minute 
advice : 

Mrs. Morris has a mangle (I think it is called) for 
ironing clothes, which, as it is fixed in the place where 
it is commonly used, she proposes to leave and take mine. 
To this I have no objection, provided mine is equally 
good and convenient; but if I should obtain any ad- 
vantages, besides that of its being up and ready for use, 
I am not inclined to receive it. ... I approve, at least 
till inconvenience or danger shall appear, of the large 
table ornaments remaining on the sideboards, and of 
the pagodas remaining in the smallest drawing-rooms. 
. . . Whether the green, which you have, or a new yellow 
curtain, should be appropriated to the staircase above 
the hall, may depend on your getting an exact match, in 
color and so forth, for the latter. 

Mrs. Morris left two large mirrors in the 
best rooms, taking instead, with his consent, 
two of the President's several ; not, however, 
those purchased of the French minister. Her 
large lamp in the hall was exchanged for one 
or two of the President's glass lamps. 

The crystal chandelier, so beautiful at night 
with its twinkling wax candles, was brought 

83 



The First American 

on from New York and hung in Mrs. Wash- 
ington's rear "best" drawing-room. The 
furniture, it would seem, was of mahogany 
chiefly. In the fireplaces, generous and open, 
log fires crackled merrily across polished 
andirons that seemed half conscious of their 
fine effect, with satellite shovel and tongs, and 
delicate, glittering fender. In the smaller 
drawing-room in front a sofa was drawn up 
invitingly to one side of the fire. Twining, 
the British traveller, conducted to this room, 
and left for a moment to observe before the 
President and Mrs. Washington came in, says 
that though well furnished, it had no pictures 
on the walls nor ornaments on the chimney- 
piece. Odd. In other rooms there were pict- 
ures and ornaments, and over the mantel in 
this, probably a mirror. Genet, the Revo- 
lutionist French minister, who thought that 
he had but to indicate in just what way he 
wished the United States to act to have it act 
at once, went away from the President's house 
complaining of his merited though polite re- 
buff, and of the picture of Louis XVI. that 
he saw on the dining-room wall. An English 
secretary of legation notes the key of the 

84 



/// Philadelphia and Germ an tow n 

Bastille hanging opposite King Louis's pict- 
ure : wonderful impartiality, the secretary no 
doubt thought. Pretty crystal -hung can- 
delabra stood on gilt brackets on the walls of 
the house, and these with other ornaments in 
use there are now at Mount Vernon. The 
pictures sent by sea from Mount Vernon to 
the executive mansion in New York were 
also in the Morris house. When the Wash- 
ingtons arrived in November they drove up 
to a comfortable home, but Mrs. Washing- 
ton was not in readiness to receive until. 
Christmas day, when she held her first, a 
brilliant Drawing Room. No woman can ar- 
range a house altogether to suit another. 

We first hear distinctly in Philadelphia of 
that important personage " Uncle Harkless," 
the chief cook. He was of unusual size and 
strength ; but Hercules, even if he had been 
a good American divinity, would have never 
known that here was an ebony namesake, un- 
less he had been able to bear in mind that 
the English tendency still prevailed to pro- 
nounce er as ar — just as now we sometimes 
hear " clerk " called " dark." Uncle Harkless 
was scarcely an underling, though the new 

85 



The First American 

steward, Hyde, and his wife, were white and 
superintended. As sometimes happens among 
negroes, Harkless was a stickler for nicety. 
One could smell the cleanness in the kitchen. 
When preparing the state dinner, on Thurs- 
day, he wore, one after the other, as many as 
half a dozen clean aprons, and used unnum- 
bered napkins. A fearful dandy — or, as they 
called it in those days, a dainty "macaroni" 
— when the steward placed the dishes on the 
table, Uncle Harkless left it to the menials to 
serve, and retired, to reappear in a fetching 
costume : black smallclothes, a blue cloth 
coat with velvet collar and shining metal but- 
tons, silk stockings, a cocked hat, a dangling 
watch-chain, and enormous silver buckles to 
advertise his enormous feet Flourishing a 
gold- headed cane, he went out at the front 
door, where " German John," the porter, made 
him a low bow, returned in kind. His prome- 
nade down Market Street aroused the vain 
envy of lesser Ethiopians not connected with 
" the government, sir." 

John was also a person not to be lightly 
thought of. He was a Hessian — John Kruse. 
He succeeded the Irish Fagan, temporary 

86 



In Philadelphia and Germantown 

coachman. John's was a figure to inspire 
awe in the horseless plebeians when he rode 
the difficult white horse Jackson to accom- 
pany the President on his Saturday rides. 
John would have been indignant had he 
known that somebody was getting it into 
history that Jackson at times came out first 
best. Jackson was christened in sport, be- 
cause he bolted with Major Jackson in a cav- 
alcade of state, and ran away with him in a 
manner not laid down on the programme. 
When German John drove the Presidential 
coach, his laced cocked hat square to the 
front, thrown back on his cue, his big nose 
scornfully tilted, it must have been a pleasure 
to children to stand aside with fingers in 
their mouths. Though continually smoking 
a meerschaum in the stables, John Kruse was 
not lazy in off hours. If they, the white 
horses, were to be used the next day, he cov- 
ered them at night with a whiting paste, 
wrapped them in body-cloths, renewed the 
straw in their stalls, and in the morning 
rubbed and curried and brushed till their 
shapely flanks outshone satin. 

The stables, in a lane not far from the 
87 



The First American 

house, were a show- place in Philadelphia. 
Some of the fine horses were bred at Mount 
Vernon. The horses were worth seeing as 
they stood in their stalls, twelve in a row, 
contentedly feeding, stamping the cool, quiv- 
ering floor, making the air warm with vigor- 
ous breath, turning wise eyes to look at curi- 
ous strangers. It is believed they did not 
have long tails. They were bobbed, I think. 
Nelson, the old white horse ridden by Wash- 
ington at Yorktown, left now at Mount Ver- 
non, was the first nicked horse ridden in 
America. 

James Hurley, Irish, a groom, probably 
rode a leader of the six-in-hand on the pos- 
tilion saddle, whose cloth was ordered by 
Washington to be "like the hammer-cloth, 
that all may be of a piece." Giles, Paris, 
and Cyrus were negro grooms. Paris was 
so lazy that he was left at Mount Vernon on 
the visit after leaving New York. And he 
was probably born lazy — poor Paris ! Fidus 
was a footman. Paris, Fidus, Cyrus, Hercules ! 
America indulged in the classics when she 
was young. 

The negro, as is often told, in the days of 

88 



In Philadelphia and Germantown 

slavery had contempt for " po' white trash," by 
which term he referred to a Caucasian that 
was neither a slaveholder nor, in his opinion, 
a " gentleman " ; he invariably attempted in- 
subordination to white housekeepers and upper 
servants. Hyde and his wife had trouble in 
governing the negro servants, especially in the 
atmosphere of Pennsylvania, where gradual 
emancipation was in progress. 

The President thought Hyde inclined to ex- 
travagance, and in that regard was less pleased 
with him than he had been with Fraunces, 
who, of his own accord, had probably gone 
back to his tavern-keeping in New York as 
more remunerative. Hyde's wages were two 
hundred dollars a year — as much as Secretary 
Lear's "salery." His wife received one hun- 
dred dollars— eight dollars and thirty cents a 
month. The President inspected the domes- 
tic accounts weekly. Though the household 
was run on a wide scale, he exacted economy 
in detail, and Hyde well understood that ex- 
penditures must be "reasonable." 

The President was ready, even at personal 
sacrifice, to enforce his own orders. 

The steward set before him one day a 
89 



The First American 

dish of fish, appetizingly hot, daintily dressed. 
Washington especially liked fish. 

" What fish is this?" asked he. 

" A shad, sir, a very fine shad," answered 
the steward, congratulating himself with a 
quick, glowing smile. 

" What was the price, sir ?" 

"Three-three-three dollars," stuttered the 
steward, his smile dashed. 

There was lightning in the President's 
searching gray-blue eye. 

" Take it away, sir! take it away!" he said, 
sternly. " It shall never be said that my table 
sets such an example of luxury and extrava- 
gance." 

The crestfallen steward took it away; it was 
eaten in the servants' hall. 

In the Morris house, in April, 1793, Wash- 
ington, although grateful to France and desir- 
ous to help her, signed the proclamation of 
neutrality as between this warring former ally 
and our late enemy, England. This he well 
knew was against public sentiment and disap- 
pointing to the generous wish of Americans. 
Friend opposed and foe approved, but he 

maintained his course with a firmness that of 

90 



In Philadelphia and Germ ant own 

itself entitles Washington's name to be men- 
tioned with reverence as long as this republic 
shall survive. Infant America, as yet unable 
to help, did not sacrifice its existence to France, 
thanks to him. 

A few months later, in the heat of summer, 
yellow-fever scourged Philadelphia and hushed 
the gayety that had marked the presence of 
government officials. To escape the pesti- 
lence the President moved to Germantown, a 
few miles distant. The departments and State 
government followed. 

For about two months Washington resided 
in the furnished house of Colonel Isaac Franks, 
a Revolutionary officer. Built in 1772-73 by 
David Deshler, a merchant from Heidelberg, 
Germany, it still stands, owned now and occu- 
pied by Mr. Elliston Perot- Morris. Sir Will- 
iam Howe, during the Revolution, spent a 
summer here, and with him the uncle of Queen 
Victoria, then Duke of Clarence, later William 
IV. With a front of about forty feet, it is of 
stone, two stories in height, an attic with dor- 
mer-windows above. On the first floor great 
solid wooden blinds barred, when closed, the 
many-paned windows. A heavy wrought-iron 

91 



The First American 

latch a foot and a half long dropped into a 
stout hasp on the quaint old door. Sweet 
dappled shadows played under an arbor of 
green grape-vines running far down the gar- 
den, which surrounded the house on three 
sides. Crisp, trim hedges of box and shading 
trees hid the back buildings that gave com- 
modiousness unsuspected from the front. 

Charles Wister, a schoolboy at the German- 
town Academy with George Washington Parke 
Custis, had his anecdote of Washington in 
Germantown. 

The President rode up in front of the acad- 
emy. " Where is Washington Parke Custis ?" 
asked he. 

Wister answered. 

That is the anecdote. 

In the tea-room in the Perot-Morris house, 
looking on the garden, is still a cupboard that 
was there in 1793, and cup and saucer and 
plate of old India-blue china used by the 
Washingtons "on the evening of Jesse Wain's 
visit." Jesse was a small boy (once) who 
played with George Washington Parke Cus- 
tis in the garden, when the President appeared 
and said, 



In Philadelphia and Germantown 

" Come to tea, and bring your young friend 
with you " — forming an anecdote for Jesse. 

Before turning the house over to the Presi- 
dent, Colonel Franks made an inventory of 
the contents. He handed in, in November, a 
heavy bill. Along with the rent, it included 
the amount of his own travelling expenses to 
and from Bethlehem — to which place he went 
on giving up the house — a sum to be paid for 
the loss of a flat-iron, four plates, three ducks, 
a bushel of potatoes, and a hundred -weight 
of hay, as well as an outlay for preparatory 
house-cleaning — reaching all together the sum 
of $131.36. 

It was thought that Congress was without 
authority to meet elsewhere, and so before the 
first Monday in December, contagion still be- 
ing possible, though not probable, the Presi- 
dent was again in Philadelphia. 

That Washington was essentially a man of 
warring emotions, whose passions often strug- 
gled for control, Houdon, Gilbert Stuart, and 
Sharpless tell us, as do all other sculptors and 
painters who study his character as written in 
his face. But in these inward battles his mas- 
terful will was strong, and was two or three 

93 



The First American 

times only known publicly to be routed. Mrs. 
Washington's front drawing-room in the Phil- 
adelphia executive mansion was the scene of 
an ungoverned outburst of passion. News 
was brought that General St. Clair, sent 
against the Indians in the West, had allowed 
the American army to fall victim to the iden- 
tical stratagem — an ambush — against which 
Washington had earnestly, insistently, re- 
peatedly, forewarned him, as first and as part- 
ing word. Poor Mr. Lear, only witness to the 
violent outbreak, was terrified into silence, as 
Washington, alternately pacing the floor and 
seating himself on the sofa, gave vent to a tor- 
rent of abuse and frightful accusation of St. 
Clair. 

After a time Washington recollected and 
collected himself, ashamed. 

" This must not go beyond this room," he 
said. 

It is hard to keep a great man's secrets. 

Nelly Custis, entering her teens, grew into 
a beauty, saucy, tender-hearted, and fearless. 
She pleased the President. She told a mimick- 
ing tale well, catching the ludicrous, delight- 
ing him into laughter. He enjoyed a good 

94 



In Philadelphia and Germantown 

joke, she said. He presented her a harpsi- 
chord — the quaint little instrument now at 
Mount Vernon — imported for her, and cost- 
ing a thousand dollars. Compelled to artistic 
effort by her grandmother, poor Nelly mixed 
tears and practice upon it four hours a day. 

Washington was inclined to absent-minded- 
ness. Said Nelly: 

" I have often seen my grandmother, when 
she had something to communicate or a re- 
quest to make, seize him by the button-hole 
to command his attention, when he would 
look down upon her with the most benignant 
smile, and become at once attentive to her 
and her wishes, which were never slighted." 

On a January day in 1795, Hamilton 
walked, as he often did, to the President's 
house. He entered the room where sat Major 
Jackson and other gentlemen of the Presi- 
dent's " family." 

" Congratulate me, my good friends," said 
he, smiling. " I am no longer a public man. 
The President has at last decided to accept 
my resignation. I am once more a private 
citizen." 

" I can see no cause for rejoicing," replied 
95 



The First American 

a listener, " that the government and the coun- 
try are deprived of your valuable services." 

" I am not worth exceeding five hundred 
dollars in the world," Hamilton rejoined. (It 
was as costly in that day as in this to serve 
one's country.) " My slender fortune and the 
best years of my life have been devoted to 
the service of my adopted country. A rising 
family hath its claims." 

He picked up a small book lying on the 
table. 

" Ah ! this is the Constitution. Now mark 
my words : So long as we are a young and 
virtuous people, this instrument will bind us 
together in mutual interest, mutual welfare, 
and mutual happiness ; but when we become 
old and corrupt, it will bind us no longer." 

In the Morris house, on August 12, 1795, 
Washington signed the Jay treaty with Eng- 
land, losing thereby most of his remnant of 
support in the House of Representatives. 
Abuse culminated in the serious suggestion 
to impeach him. The Constitution having, 
for obvious reasons, confined the treaty-mak- 
ing power to the Executive and the Senate, 

Washington refused to grant the request of 

96 ' 



Ill Philadelphia and German /own 

the House of Representatives for the corre- 
spondence leading up to the treaty. The 
storm of indignation that followed did not 
spare even his personal character. " A Calm 
Observer " stated in a newspaper that Wash- 
ington had stolen $4750. 

" With the real public," which, as each 
Presidential campaign might teach us, is not 
the politicians and declaimers who make so 
much noise that they do not hear the silence, 
but the characteristic Americans that silently 
decide — " with the real public," writes Mar- 
shall, " the confidence felt in the integrity of 
the Chief Magistrate remained unshaken." 

They were not particularly happy days — 
the last days in the Morris house — for anoth- 
er reason. In this period of turbulent peace 
Washington was deeply disquieted by the mis- 
fortunes of Lafayette, repudiated for years by 
the country — his own — for whose sake he had 
staked fortune and life. The President did, 
in vain, all in his power to release his friend 
from the revolting Austrian prison at Olmiitz, 
and pecuniarily and otherwise aided Lafay- 
ette's family. When the wife and daughter 
voluntarily became fellow-prisoners with the 

G 97 



The First American 

Marquis, young Washington Lafayette was 
sent to America under the assumed name of 
Motier, one of his father's family names. He 
informed the President at once of his landing 
at Boston. Washington wrote him an affec- 
tionate welcome, but, as President, was not at 
liberty openly to befriend and to take him to 
his house. Washington Lafayette boarded for 
a time, at Washington's expense, with ex-Sec- 
retary Hamilton's family in New York. Later, 
Congress became informed of the youth's pres- 
ence in the country, and formally desired him 
to come to Philadelphia. Asking Washing- 
ton's advice first, Lafayette came, residing 
not in the President's home, but near. 

Louis Philippe, then Duke of Orleans, and 
Montpensier and Beaujolais, his brothers, and 
the noble — in the American, the right goodly 
sense, noble — Due de Liancourt, walked the 
streets of Philadelphia, followed by sympa- 
thetic and admiring eyes. A welcome await- 
ed them in many houses, but not in that of 
the President, who did not endanger the peace 
of the United States by entertaining those 
pronounced by the existing government of 

F ranee its enemies. Talleyrand wasted for a 

98 



' In Philadelphia and Germantown 

time his snakelike diplomacy in Philadelphia, 
while fleeing one phase of the madness of 
France, during the throes of the Revolu- 
tion. 

On the 2 2d of February — Washington's 
birthday — and on the Fourth of July, if in 
session, Congress adjourned to enable its mem- 
bers to pay their respects to him. He held 
levees on those days at his house, but before 
the close of his second term the enmity his 
firmness and independence had aroused work- 
ed to do away with the custom. But the Pres- 
ident's serenity was never disturbed, and he 
never for one moment forgot his duty to home 
or to foreign officials. At a house-party at 
Mount Vernon in the last summer of his 
Presidency there were four envoys — the 
French, the British, the Spanish, and the Port- 
uguese. 

Social distinctions were strong in Philadel- 
phia. There were two "assemblies," one com- 
posed of the fashion of the city, the other not 
so exclusive. It is told of Washington in 
Watson's Annals that he was invited to the 
two assemblies on the same evening. He went 
to the less exclusive and danced with a me- 

99 



The First American 

chanic's daughter. It is said elsewhere that 
he never danced after the Revolution. 

In September, 1796, declining a re-election, 
Washington published to the people of the 
United States his Farewell Address — an epit- 
ome of his characteristic and prescient views. 
There is not in the writings of Hamilton or 
of Madison or of Jefferson a sentence breath- 
ing just the beneficent, prayerful spirit of the 
Farewell Address of Washington.* 

On the 3d of March, 1797, the day before 
retiring from office, he gave a dinner to the 
President-elect and Mrs. Adams, establishing 
the custom that has since prevailed, that the 
outgoing shall entertain the incoming Presi- 
dent, a courteous usage that has more than 
once seated bosom enemies together at a 
dreary feast. At Washington's hospitable 
table were also the foreign Ministers and their 
wives, and Robert Morris, Bishop White, and 
others. President Washington chaffed Presi- 
dent-elect Adams on " entering servitude," and 

* See History of Philadelphia, by J. Thomas Scharf 
and Thomas Wescott, p. 484, for Claypoole's evidence 
in regard to the charge that Hamilton wrote the Fare- 
well Address. 

100 



In Philadelphia and Germ ant own 

in an especially good humor raised his glass 
and said : 

" Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last time 
I shall drink your health as a public man ; I 
do it with all sincerity, wishing you all possi- 
ble happiness." 

The effect was not enlivening. Social re- 
gret at the departure of the Washingtons was 
sincere. Mrs. Liston, wife of the British Min- 
ister, shed tears. 

The Washingtons joyfully made young La- 
fayette and his tutor members of the family, 
when the Presidential term was over. On the 
1 2 th of March they left the Morris house 
finally. 

The divine right to be up is easily convinc- 
ing. The divine ability to stay up, grim fate 
has at times denied to kings. Robert Morris, 
potent financier of a Revolution, Senator, and 
a dispenser of charming hospitality, spent the 
greater part of his sad last days in a debtors' 
prison. Penniless, and without even a cell of 
his own, he was transferred day or night from 
one to another at the jail - warden's conven- 
ience. The home once rented to his friend 
the President went into other hands, and 

IOI 



The First American 

through vicissitudes too. It was used in 
time, one half as boarding-house, the other 
as confectionery. What is left of it, changed 
beyond recognition, is a shop, or parts of three 
shops, of which the centre is No. 528 Market 
Street, a jewelry-store. On its front, between 
the windows of the second floor, the Sons of 
the Revolution, a short time ago, placed a 
commemorative tablet. 



part W 

FINAL DAYS AT MOUNT VERNON 



WASHINGTON went at once from 
Philadelphia to Mount Vernon. He 
had longed ineffably for the quiet of 
his beautiful home on the Potomac, but he 
had only two years and nine months to live 
when he left the Presidency. 

The love of the few that are near more than 
makes up for lack of the praise of the many 
afar; but Washington, in his last days, had 
both love at home and praise abroad, heaped 
up and running over. He dearly loved the 
old faces, for in them he saw none of the 
curiosity that always tinged the adulation of 
the new-comer; and a few old friends, a few 
old servants, superannuated pensioners, were 
still about him. 

His old white horse, the Revolutionary vet- 
eran " Nelson," ran neighing to a call and 
caress when Washington passed him feeding 
stiffly in the paddock. Horse, master, friends, 

and servants were affectionately to grow older 

105 



The First American 

together. Still within doors was the lovely 
thrifty wife, busy as a clock, her white hair 
marking the flight of time. Like the sure 
dial on the west lawn, the hand, her soul, still 
pointed upward, no matter where the shadows 
might range. Billy was now dilettante shoe- 
maker ; Christopher, a younger man, his mas- 
ter's valet, faithful and trusted, making Billy, 
the former incumbent, perhaps think for a 
moment that none of us is really needed in 
this world. That is where Billy could have 
made a mistake. Father Jack, the ancient 
fisherman, did not come into the home-life at 
Mount Vernon in the days when his step was 
as " peert " as any, in the honeymoon of his 
mistress. But youth has no more than its 
own advantage. More interesting now, Father 
Jack's tongue loosened when his legs grew 
stiff and the dolor forsook his kinky hair. 
If a boy could. endure to sit with him in his 
boat, riding upon the Potomac beneath a 
beating sun that sweetly warmed the old 
African's back, Father Jack might tell him 
hair-raising tales of the king, his father, an 
Ethiopian monarch — that is, if the ancient 
fisherman could keep awake. The old fellow 

1 06 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

fished and dozed, and often waked to deny 
most indignantly that he had been asleep. 
When it was time to bring in the fish for 
dinner, the cook hoisted on shore a signal. 
To catch either Father Jack's eye when awake, 
or his one perfectly sound ear, frantic waving 
and shrieks sometimes failed. Father Jack 
was more than a hundred. 

What is this moving upon the waters as if 
to attack Mount Vernon ? 

A vessel, not very big. 

It heaves to. The gun, not very big, is 
ready ! fired ! 

A boat is lowered, is manned (one man). It 
puts ashore. 

" A fish, sir, for the General, with the com- 
pliments of Captain Benjamin Grymes, of the 
Life Guards, sir." 

Old Benjamin Grymes, a faithful heart, 
lived not far down the Potomac, and gloried 
in repeating this performance. 

Tom Davis shortened the lives of the can- 
vas-back ducks on the Potomac near by. He 
was as faithful to the game course for the 
General's dinner as Father Jack or Captain 

Grymes to the fish. 

107 



The Firs t A me r ic a n 

" The country people about Mount Vernon 
loved Washington as a neighbor and a friend, 
and not as the distant great man of the army 
and the Presidency." 

The deer-park fence rotted. The deer ran 
wild over the estate, but the General allowed 
no poaching. He caught a fellow making off 
in a boat with a freshly killed deer, and waded 
into the water and seized him, not tenderly. 

Louis Philippe and his two brothers and 
the Due de Liancourt, welcome now to Wash- 
ington's house, gazed with swelling hearts 
upon the scene at Mount Vernon, peace ev- 
erywhere but at times in the glorious sky. 

Washington mourned with them the sorry 
fate of many French friends, former officers in 
the American Revolution ; among them De 
Warville — once, too, a visitor at Mount Ver- 
non — guillotined because, though ardent re- 
publican, he opposed the cowardly murder of 
the King. 

Said the Due de Liancourt: 

" In the days of my power, under the an- 
cient regime of France, I had fifty servants to 
w r ait upon me, but yet my coat was never as 

well brushed as now that I do it myself." 

1 08 




# 



WASHINGTON AS Ills OWN GAME-WARDEN 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

Visitors, heralded and unheralded, contin- 
ued to come, though the house was "in a 
litter and dirt" from necessary repairs, and 
Mrs. Washington had a swelling in her face. 
The demands upon the host were too many 
for an elderly man. The General sent to 
fetch his nephew, Lawrence Lewis, to help 
entertain. This was not the nephew, Robert 
Lewis, who had been secretary during the 
Presidency. 

Lawrence fell in love with Nelly Custis. 
What bachelor would not? She was reli?- 

o 

ion, culture, daring, fun, turned by femininity 
to charm. 

France grossly insulted United States en- 
voys, and the envoys waited to be insulted 
again before they came home. After making 
sure that they were well enough cuffed, the 
United States prepared for war, vigorously 
and unmistakably; appointed Washington 
commander-in-chief. Principally from his 
home on the Potomac, by an active corre- 
spondence, Washington organized the army. 
France, partly by victories our ships had won 
at sea, and partly by our military preparation 
at home, was scared into politeness. She re- 

109 



The First American 

ceived our ambassador, and the " quasi war " 
ended. The trophies left at Mount Vernon 
were a gorgeously embroidered uniform for 
Washington, and the full, fluffy white plumes 
General Pinckney presented for his chapeau. 

A direct history of Washington lies in the 
letters extant that he wrote on his farm. He 
replied unfailingly to correspondents, either 
personally or through a secretary. His liter- 
ary style became masterful; at times turgid, in- 
volved, in stating fact ; in setting forth opin- 
ion or plan of action his words were as clear 
as the Thames in its upper reaches, or as a 
mountain cascade in Georgia when it has been 
long since the rain fell. At intervals, to his 
latest day, he misspelled in this fashion : " of " 
for "off," "expence," "excepting" for "accept- 
ing," " sparce." He became careful and usually 
correct in punctuation. Not only in his let- 
ters, but in his diary, he wrote of his wife as 
" Mrs. Washington." He rarely referred with- 
out prefix to any man not a servant. He once 
wrote of the steward as " Mr." Hyde. He 
liked to see " a tub stand on its own bottom," 
and did nothing to upset it. 

It is from Washington's dryness of fact con- 



no 




i 




Final Days at Mount Vernon 

cerning himself that comes much of the dry- 
ness of his history as often written. He is 
unconscious of and never notes down any trait 
indicating greatness in himself. 

He was not above a pun. Colonel Lear 
was in Washington. He was suffering from 
rheumatism in his feet. The General wrote 
to Lear's doctor, " It would be well for him 
[Lear] to remain in the Federal city as long 
as he could derive benefit to his understand- 
ing from your friendly prescriptions." 

In his letters to Dr. Craik, the Fairfaxes, 
Lafayette, Chastellux, Greene, Light Horse 
Harry Lee, Robert Morris, Knox, Washington 
expressed his affection in generous, outspoken 
terms. To Nelly Custis, absent at her first 
ball, he wrote, when her heart was free, " Be 
assured, a sensible woman can never be happy 
with a fool." 

Of Nelly Custis, Latrobe, the Frenchman, 
wrote, " She has more perfection of form, of 
expression, of color, of softness, and of firm- 
ness of mind than I have ever seen before." 
She had many suitors. The love-lorn Law- 
rence Lewis won her hand. The General ap- 
proved. Lawrence, tall, firm -eyed, was his 



The First American 

favorite among all his nephews. The wed- 
ding was on Washington's birthday, in 1799. 
Nelly, with a woman's eye to the splendid, 
wanted Washington to wear on the absorbing 
occasion his new uniform as commander-in- 
chief of the provisional army. He would not, 
but wore the old Continental uniform, buff and 
blue, wearing which he had planned and fought 
so many battles. He was fond of the buff and 
blue. 

He rode about his farms in the hot summer, 
surveying, carrying his compass himself; his 
dress suitably plain drab, a great round hat on 
his head, an umbrella fixed in the saddle. He 
was quietly collecting and digesting items for 
his will and for the minute directions he was 
writing to his agent for the conduct of the 
estate for several years to come. If belated, 
he galloped home at a round pace in time for 
the getting-ready-for-dinner bell. 

His health, it seemed, was vigorous. 

In the autumn he was riding with George 
Washington Parke Custis. They dismount- 
ed. Remounting, the General's horse threw 
him. He seemed not to regret the hurt, which 

was not serious, but merely the fact of falling. 

112 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

As soon as he got up he began to explain why 
he fell: 

" I am not hurt," said he. " I have had a 
very complete tumble, owing to a cause no 
horseman could well avoid. I was poised in 
the stirrup and had not gained the saddle, 
when the scary animal sprang from under me." 

He had no fancy to play King Lear, test- 
ing his judgment of false and true. Lawrence 
and Nelly wished to build a house of their 
own. They made inquiries concerning lands. 
Washington had provided in his will to leave 
them an adjoining farm, and for their con- 
venience told them of it, offering to rent 
them the farm to build on. 

" You may conceive," he said, in a letter to 
Lawrence, " that building before you have an 
absolute title to the land is hazardous. To 
obviate this, I shall only remark that it is 
not likely any occurrence will happen or any 
change take place that would alter my present 
intention (if the conduct of yourself and wife 
is such as to merit a continuance of it) ; but 
be this as it may, that you may proceed on 
sure ground with respect to the buildings, I 
will agree, and this letter shall be an evidence 

H II 3 



The First American 

of it, that if hereafter I should find cause to 
make any other disposition of the property 
here mentioned, I will pay the actual cost of 
said buildings to you or yours. 

" Although I have not the most distant idea 
that any event will happen that could affect a 
change in my determination, nor any suspi- 
cion that you or Nelly could conduct your- 
selves in such a manner as to incur my serious 
displeasure, yet, at the same time, that I am 
inclined to do justice to others, it behooves me 
to take care of myself, by keeping the staff in 
my own hands." 

In December a cold brought on a throat 
trouble, easily remedied now by tracheotomy. 
The doctors' principal method of hastening 
death in that day was to let blood. They bled 
him. 

He was rapidly past hope. 

As he lay dying he felt his pulse ; his mind 
still at work when his body was nearly con- 
quered. 

While the ghastly death-shadows deepened 

in his face, Mrs. Washington, at his bedside, 

silently prayed, the Bible on her knee. She 

went by a mental path of agony far into the 

114 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

Dark Valley with him that had been the 
house-band indeed. 

Her grief was quiet. When his great 
frame, only two days before in perfect health, 
lay stretched in repose from which it would 
never rise, she said : 

." It is well I have no more troubles to go 
through. I shall soon follow him." 

It was on Saturday night, between ten and 
eleven o'clock, the 14th of December, 1799. 

The coffin — the grewsome thing that col- 
lects to the mind a'l the horrors of death — 
was brought the next morning from Alex- 
andria. It was of mahogany lined with lead. 

His body lay unburied till Wednesday be- 
tween three and four in the afternoon. He 
had requested not to be laid in the vault 
within less than three days after death. 

It was in another respect as he had wished. 
None were present but lovers, friends and 
neighbors. But of these there were so many 
that his body was removed from the banquet- 
hall to the river piazza, that they might better 
see in farewell his noble face. 

The stately pillars were so tall that the 
loving sky looked once more upon him. 

"5 



The First American 

The mourning procession wound about the 
grounds of Mount Vernon to lay him to rest 
in the old tomb on the hill-side. Cyrus and 
Wilson, two black grooms in blacker weeds, 
led his riderless horse. Before them the 
troops of Alexandria, horse and foot, moved 
in funeral step, while music breathed solemn 
hope through the leafless trees. Four clergy- 
men in white followed. Next the un ridden 
horse eight sorrowing men, officers and ma- 
sons, bore with heart -felt reverence the life- 
less rider prone at a tall man's length. The 
household, friends, a body of masons, and 
servants followed in silence, broken by sounds 
of weeping. Minute-guns were fired from a 
vessel in the river. 

None of Washington's relatives were pres- 
ent ; his death was so unexpected, the means 
of communication so slow. Mrs. Washington 
did not see his body laid in the grave ; she 
remained in the house. George Washington 
Parke Custis was absent. Nelly Custis Lewis 
lay ill in an upper chamber. 

Washington's will is a remarkable paper, 
circumstantially clear and legal, written with- 
out legal assistance, his name signed at the 

116 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

bottom of each page. Its minuteness made 
peace after death. There was small chance 
of dispute over the distribution of his large 
property, though divided among a great num- 
ber of persons and two institutions. 

Under his management, his hands almost 
constantly full of affairs of state, the Mount 
Vernon property from 2500 acres had in- 
creased to 9000, on which in one year he had 
grown 7000 bushels of wheat and 10,000 of 
Indian corn, besides a large quantity of other 
produce. In the summer of 1799 he had 
there 36 horses, 57 mules, 15 asses, 329 horned 
cattle, and an unnumbered stock of hogs — 
live-stock in value to the amount of $35,000. 
In addition to the Mount Vernon estate, he 
held at his death titles to more than forty-four 
tracts of land, variously situated in Virginia, 
Ohio, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, 
Northwest Territory, Kentucky, the District 
of Columbia, and the Dismal Swamp. He 
was one of the greatest landholders on the 
North American continent. He has been 
called land poor. At times he was straitened 
for ready money. 

In reading his will one thinks no expectant 
117 



The First American 

relative, relative-in-law, friend, or servant could 
have been disappointed, though that is, after 
all, scarcely probable. 

To my dearly beloved wife, Martha Washington, I 
give and bequeath the use, profit and benefit of my 
whole Estate, real and personal, for the term of her 
natural life, except such parts thereof as are specially 
disposed of hereafter. 

Of those specially disposed of, Nelly and 
Lawrence received the estate conditionally 
promised ; they had behaved themselves. To 
George Washington Parke Custis was be- 
queathed a lot in the city of Washington, 
also the superb Arlington property over- 
looking the Potomac, where later lived the 
devisee's daughter, married to Robert E. 
Lee, and where, later still, were buried 
16,000 bodies of Americans slain in a broth- 
ers' quarrel. 

The General left endowment for the Wash- 
ington and Lee University, and for a national 
university to be founded in the city of Wash- 
ington, an institution that he believed would 
be of great political advantage to the nation. 

The latter bequest he prefaced so : 

118 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

It has always been a source of serious regret with me to 
see the youth of these United States sent to foreign countries 
for the purpose of education, often before their minds were 
formed or they had imbibed any adequate ideas of the hap- 
piness of their own, contracting too frequently not only 
habits of dissipation and extravagence, but principles un- 
friendly to Republican Govermrit and to the true and 
genuine liberties of mankind, which thereafter are rarely 
overcome. For these reasons it has been my ardent wish 
to see a plan devised on a liberal scale which would 
have a tendency to spend systamatic ideas through all 
parts of this rising Empire, thereby to do away local 
attachments and State prejudices as far as the nature 
of things would, or indeed ought to admit, from our na- 
tional councils. Looking anxiously forward to the ac- 
complishment of so desirable an object as this is, (in my 
estimation) my mind has not been able to contemplate 
any plan more likely to effect the measure than the estab- 
lishment of a University in a central part of the United 
States to which the youth of fortune and talents from all 
parts thereof might be sent for the completion of their 
education in all the branches of polite literature in arts 
and sciences — in acquiring knowledge in the principles 
of Politics and good government and (as a matter of infi- 
nite importance in my judgment) by associating with each 
other and forming friendships in juvenile years, be ena- 
bled to free themselves in a proper degree from those local 
prejudices and habitual jealousies which have just been 
mentioned and which when carried to excess are never 
failing sources of disquietude to the Public mind and 
pregnant of mischievous consequences to this country. 

119 



The First American 

With protective prevision for the old and 
infirm, Washington bequeathed the slaves he 
held in his own right, one hundred and twen- 
ty-four in number, their freedom at the death 
of Mrs. Washington — not liberating them at 
once because of their inter-marriage with hers. 
He probably knew of her intention to free her 
slaves by will, but he left her to do as she 
would with her own. None of the property 
mentioned in his will came to him by mar- 
riage. 

Now for Billy. 

And to my mulatto man, William (calling himself Will- 
iam Lee), I give immediate freedom or if he should pre- 
fer it (on account of the accidents which have befallen 
him, and which have rendered him incapable of walk- 
ing or any active employment) to remain in the situa- 
tion he now is, it shall be optional in him to do so. 

In either case an annuity of thirty dollars 
was given him. 

Sarah, dead Bishop's daughter, received a 
hundred dollars. 

Mrs. Washington never again slept in the 
chamber in which the General died. She 
stayed instead in a little attic room, uncom- 
fortable and stuffy, whose low, sloping ceiling 

I20 




THE MOST CHEEKI.KSS ROOM WAS THE ONLY ONE FROM WHICH SHE 
COULD SEE HER HUSBAND'S GRAVE" 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

seemed offering to fall on one's head. It had 
but a single dormer window to let in a bit of 
light, and a faint breath to cool the heated 
roof air in summer. It was cold in winter; 
had neither stove nor fireplace. The tiny 
window looked out upon the General's grave. 
It was the custom in Virginia, by way of re- 
spect, to close for two years the room in 
which a member of the family had recently 
died. It has been lately said that it was for 
this reason Mrs. Washington selected the at- 
tic room. A non sequitur. There were ten 
other bedrooms to which she might have 
gone; this, the most cheerless, was the one 
only from which she could see her husband's 
grave. The morbid choice was actuated by 
heart-sickness that religion could not control. 
Mount Vernon is unhealthy. Chilling mists 
creep up from the river in the late evening, 
laden with sufficient miasma to explain the 
constant store of quinine the General kept 
on hand for slaves and family. Mrs. Wash- 
ington died of a bilious fever in the little at- 
tic room in May, 1802, two and a half years 
after the General's death. She was laid be- 
side him. 



The First American 

Unfortunately, both the General's and Mrs. 
Washington's wills provided the sale at her 
death of all properties not "specially disposed 
of." The mansion at Mount Vernon was al- 
most bared of furniture. With the immedi- 
ate farm, outbuildings, and tomb, the house 
went to the General's nephew, Bushrod Wash- 
ington, a United States Supreme Court judge. 

Billy remained. I am sorry to say he 
took to drink. He had a fit of delirium tre- 
mens. West Ford, a mulatto philosopher, 
ministered to him. When Billy was quiet 
West Ford opened a vein to bleed him. The 
blood would not flow. Billy was dead. In 
the little matter of dying Billy was active. 
He was each one of five that died in various 
parts of the United States, the last one of 
him in 1867, when he was more than a hun- 
dred and thirty years old. 

Judge Washington died in 1829. Mount 
Vernon became the property of Colonel John 
Augustine Washington, his nephew. 

A grave-robber broke into General Wash- 
ington's tomb to steal his body. He made 
off with a ghastly head. It was recovered. 
The thief had mistaken the coffin ; the head 

122 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

was not that of the General, but of another of 
the family, a number of whom were buried in 
the vault. The General's coffin was opened 
to make sure ; his body lay in repose undis- 
turbed. 

At the late date of 1837, a wish expressed 
by the General in his will was obeyed. He 
had called attention to his selection of a spot 
for a new tomb for himself and family, and 
those of the family already buried in the old 
vault. The old tomb was disadvantageously 
situated on the side of a hill which was sub- 
ject to landslides. For the new vault he speci- 
fied not only the spot, but also dimensions 
and materials. According to these, his own 
plans, a tomb was built, and his and Mrs. 
Washington's bodies were transferred to it, 
along with the remains in the old vault of 
other members of the family. The latter 
were buried together within the vault, out of 
si°:ht. while the bodies of General and Mrs. 
Washington are in stone coffins above ground, 
within plain view between the slender bars of 
a grated iron doorway. 

It is for this reason that the most illustrious 

of our dead has so simple a mausoleum — obe- 

123 



The First American 

dience to his wish. The vault is squarish, of 
red brick, topped with a bit of marble. It 
would be unsightly but that in summer vines 
clamber about it and whispering trees shel- 
ter it. Before snows whiten the roof, leaves 
flutter to the ground and bare a wonderful 
net -work of dark branches that lock and 
contrast with the sky in a frame for his rest- 
ing-place. At all times a stretch of river and 
of woodland dimpled with hollows beautifies 
triumphantly. 

From behind the tomb on a night of last 
April the moon shone round, and on the chill 
earth dropped a soft cover of light and shade. 
A few blanched clouds flecked the sky, giv- 
ing a wide wake to the awing night queen in 
her robe of silver yellow. Within the vault, 
faintly, solemnly, the sarcophagi of General 
and Lady Washington showed gloom white. 
A whippoorwill near by, changing his tree but 
seldom, from a full throat sang his three clear 
soprano notes more than two hundred times 
without stopping to take breath ; the tree-frog 
added his cool, thoughtful voice, and crickets 
and katydids punctuated a high-keyed victory 

chorus to infinitude. There are three hun- 

124 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

dred and sixty-five nights in a year, a new 
scene at the tomb every night. Think of it 
when the lightning flashes and the trees beat 
about in a storm ! Nature was partial to 
Washington, and she shifts the elements in 
earth and heaven and honors him still. But 
she loves and is kind to wooing. There are 
more pleasing garlands about the General's 
tomb, because white-haired Edmund Parker, 
a quondam slave, guarding it, tends the vine 
faithfully. Edmund, one of Colonel John Au- 
gustine Washington's negroes, is " a member 
of the family." Love lightens his labors. 

We anticipate. It was more than twenty 
years after the erection of the new tomb and 
the removal of the bodies to it when the La- 
dies' Mount Vernon Association of the Union 
came into possession, and placed on guard at 
Mount Vernon Edmund and his fellow-labor- 
ers to make to nature their effective prayer of 
work. 

Virginia farms, it is said, average a bank- 
ruptcy to every third generation. Dismal days 
came to the Washingtons' home. 

It is a greedy and luxurious family of houses, 
the big house and the little ones. In the 

125 



The First American 

General's time they ate up proceeds of sur- 
rounding farms to keep themselves going ; 
now many of those farms served other man- 
sions. A sorry sight the place became. The 
roofs leaked ; some of them fell in. More 
than one of the outhouses gave up altogether 
and fell down. The arcades that led in pretty 
curves from each side of the mansion to the 
"every-day" and "banquet" kitchens held 
straight as long as they could; but worms, rot, 
and neglect had assailed, and they leaned and 
sank. The tall pillars on the river piazza 
woke melancholy echoes with their fall ; the 
few ragged columns left were not disdainful ; 
uncouth poles straggled into service between 
them and helped prop up the weakened eaves. 
The tomb was dilapidated. 

Southern women are full of sentiment. In 
1855, Miss Pamela Cunningham, of South 
Carolina, saw the place in this condition. She 
resolved that the home of the great Ameri- 
can should be restored and honored by Ameri- 
cans ; that she herself would cause it to be 
done if nobody else would. Appealed to 
by individual members — Miss Cunningham's 
friends — to buy the property to be cared for 

126 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

by the nation, the Legislature of Virginia and 
the national Congress had not time, had not 
the money ; many no doubt thought it might 
not take in Buncombe. Miss Cunningham's 
enthusiasm founded an association of ladies 
from all parts of the Union. The association 
raised money to buy the place, has since re- 
stored it to what it was in the General's time 
(counting the plan now on foot exactly to re- 
store the entrance hall to its original white 
with old - fashioned paper), and keeps it in 
order for the people of the United States 
to visit and love. To the dismantled house 
much of the furniture has come back that had 
made wide journeys, some of it since the pub- 
lic sale at Mrs. Washington's death. Much 
is not returned, but with study of the inven- 
tories made at the deaths of the General and 
Lady Washington, the quaint rooms are all 
furnished as nearly as possible in their style 
of a hundred years ago. A gentleman of un- 
usual executive ability is resident superin- 
tendent. 

If there is no sentiment in business, there 
is business in sentiment. 

The commonwealth of Virginia would not 
127 



The First American 

alienate the property. Suggestions to remove 
Washington's remains to New York or else- 
where cannot materialize. The Ladies' Mount 
Vernon Association of the Union, a corporate 
body organized for a national purpose, gained 
legal right to buy the home and tomb from 
Colonel Washington by charter of the Legis- 
lature of Virginia. A part of Article III. of 
the charter granted, amended March 19, 1858, 
reads : 

"The said vault, the remains in and around it, and 
the inclosure, shall never be removed or disturbed." 

Judge Bushrod Washington's and Colonel 
John Augustine Washington's remains lie in 
the vault, as indicated by the white shafts in 
front of the tomb. The son of the latter be- 
came a Confederate officer, and was killed in 
the Civil War. Thank God, the questions that 
divided it have been settled, and the country 
of Washington is now, as he ever prayed it 
might be, one and inseparable. 

" Genius is the infinite capacity to take 
pains." 

Washington was many-sided ; he neglected 
no duty — public, domestic, or recreative. At 

128 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

Mount Vernon, looking minutely into private 
concerns, he wrote minutely on public matters, 
and hunted and danced and entertained. As 
President, foreseeing that his acts would be 
precedents, he rejected all offers of patronage 
and allowed no condescension on the part of 
foreign representatives, insisted on Executive 
prerogatives and refused to encroach on the 
domain of Congress, managed internal insur- 
rection and war with Indians, swept clear of 
alliance with France, sustained Hamilton in 
finance, builded reverence for the Constitution, 
gave dinner-parties, went to the play and balls 
and assemblies, remembered the laws of health 
to obey them, and managed with exactness his 
personal fortune. 

His style of living, had it been wasteful, 
would have bankrupted him, so generous was 
it. It was executive ability, which is but mas- 
terful attention to details, that made him vic- 
tor in domestic problems as in public. Gen- 
erous Robert Morris, our noble Washington of 
finance, his wealth gone, an unthanking coun- 
try allowed us to see lying neglected in a 
debtors' prison. But for his executive genius, 
exacting honesty in far detail, justifying gen- 
i 129 



The First American 

erosity, the debtors' law might have had its 
terrors for Washington. 

He did not cheapen honesty with thriftless- 
ness nor good-nature with gullibility. When 
his property, parts of it in sections as large as 
his original estate had been, went into other 
hands, it was quickly shown what had been 
the source of his financial prosperity and thrift 
To accuse him of smallness because of exact- 
ness, as, to the surprise of many, a few have 
done, is like reproaching the canary that he 
loses not a note in his scale. 

In the paintings of Turner, in the plays of 
Shakespeare, it is not the one thing only that 
is beautiful, but the all. When " The Fighting 
Temeraire " looms to her last berth, the sky is 
by radiantly to illumine the picture, to touch 
the sensible. Washington, a chef-d 'czuvre of 
the Great Artist, as general and as statesman, 
stands forth ; beside him, around him, the glow 
of his private life, the unfettered happiness of 
his household held to rectitude and order. 

The sky is mathematical, one color having 
its proportion to another, that the whole may 
be beauty. 

Lafayette said that Nature did honor to her- 
130 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

self in creating Washington, " and to show the 
perfection of her work, she placed him in such 
a position that each quality must have failed 
had it not been sustained by all the others." 

Two writers of history go on the assumption 
that the Washington of history did not exist, 
because it could not be. 

Vegetable nature is beautiful and human 
nature never? 

George Washington is not an ideal — he is 
a fact. 

No man's ideals approach the beauty of 
reality. 

In his painting, " Ulysses Deriding Polyphe- 
mus," what is Turner's glorious, glowing, 
threatening sunset at sea to the actual splen- 
dor of a sunset in Alabama ? No painter, even 
when most idealizing, has rendered Washing- 
ton an Apollo ; yet no Apollo is so handsome 
as Stuart's Washington; and no bust made of 
Washington is so magnificent as the exact re- 
production of his face in a plaster cast. Nat- 
ure casts her noblemen into forms of beauty 
never dreamed of by art. Washington's large, 
somewhat hooked, nose, firm -set mouth, and 
double chin are Washington's self, no man's 

131 



The First American 

ideal ; so are his caution, his daring, his mod- 
esty, and his sublime — to the indolent, half- 
ludicrous — exactness. 

Watching him in his home-life, we see from 
his actions and words that he believes in an 
over-ruling Providence and the righteousness 
and efficacy of the Christian religion ; that he 
upholds the dignity of personal labor, the 
necessity for thrift, the value of dress, the 
needfulness in manner of the little niceties 
that help to round out the universe — with 
thankfulness we perceive that in all things our 
first President was a gentleman. 

The man that neglects appropriate dress, a 
part of thought given to others, cannot see in 
their value the rounding characteristics of 
Washington. 

He was the first American gentleman whose 
gentility was not European, did not end in 
futility, in keeping the hands clear of work, in 
seeing never -passable gulfs between them- 
selves and " the ladies of Bloxham who wear 
such wonderful hats." The American gentle- 
man knows that they can come up every day 
from Bloxham and revolutionize their head- 
gear and their manners. He knows that there 

132 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

are heights still for every honest man to climb. 
He is willing to share his gehtleness. He is 
aware that, as in government we have found 
it better to be led by the great descendants of 
ignorant men than by imbecile descendants of 
the great — we want no George III. to lose us 
our best jewel — so we still get seed for gentle- 
men from pure, obscure American life. 

There are many of us who have prouder 
English blood than flowed in the veins of 
Washington's ancestors, who were of a good 
valorous old family of England ; but we know, 
have seen, and do not theorize, that in fair 
conditions, descendants of the Earls of Pem- 
broke are content to make nails — which is 
well, provided they are good nails — while a 
Jewish peddler's daughter can gracefully dine 
the Countess. Circumstance is the King Eu- 
ropeans worship, thinking to revere inherent 
qualities of ancestry. 

We have among us, and had in George 
Washington, all the graces of European nobil- 
ity, springing from the most inexhaustible soil, 
striking roots in the ground of the eternal 
truth that the Caucasian is dominant among 
races ; that his is a seed containing within it- 

133 



The First American 

self in right environment the probability of 
rich growth in lordly ability, with no greater 
chance of failure in individuals than in separate 
seeds of wheat. 

There are few things lovelier than a Euro- 
pean lady ; the American lady is one of them. 
We are willing to leave in Europe the ex- 
quisite patrician, scornful of all but his class. 
Like the beautiful Egyptian pyramids, built 
of the cruel toil of many, he is a monument 
to tyranny that no sane nation to-day should 
think of reproducing. We go on to better 
things. 

Washington distinctly wished the gentle- 
men of the nation to take part in politics. 
" Unless the virtuous and independent men of 
the country will come forward, "writes he, " it 
is not difficult to predict the consequences." 

In his Farewell Address Washington be- 
sought Americans to make Americanism lov- 
able. His ways followed two injunctions of 
St. Paul — " Let no man despise thee," and, 
" Put them in mind ... to obey magistrates." 

The law is the conscience of our nation. 

It may be news to many stay-at-home 
Americans that there is no nation of such 

134 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

power whose flag is less respected in Europe 
than that of America. With wondering sur- 
prise, one observes this needless fact from 
Italy to Russia and back again through Eng- 
land. 

With the exceptions of Switzerland and 
France, but not including in the exceptions 
French convents and society, all Europe is 
looking on, wishing us evil. Our prosperity 
is a continued assertion that her cherished be- 
liefs have not the support of reason. 

Washington was a loyal, law-abiding royal- 
ist, brought face to face with the fatal defects 
of monarchy in its least objectionable form, 
the English. A few years later, rid of the 
English yoke, he writes, referring to some of 
the many Americans discontented under the 
first imperfect union : 

" I am told that even respectable characters 
speak of a monarchical government without 
horror." 

Where the idea of monarchy has lost the 
horror that belongs to it, vigorous, generating 
liberty is dead. 

It is the institution that is wise or unwise. 
Kings are not necessarily tyrants or incapa- 
135 



The First American 

bles. Kingship does not of itself destroy the 
chance of greatness among all men, but no 
kingly heroism excuses the existence of a 
monarchy among any but a people that are 
children. 

America is not a republic because it is 
easier to be than a monarchy. It is more 
difficult, for the only sure foundations upon 
which to build republics are education, patriot- 
ism, and courage. All this none knew better 
than George Washington. 

Washington was full of the pride of Amer- 
icanism. He wrote : 

" The first duty of Americans is to be 
American. Do justice to all, and never for- 
get that we are Americans, the remembrance 
of which will convince us that we ought not 
to be French or English." 

Americanism will nicely pick and choose 
the virtues of all other countries, and in its 
own eminent virtue overtop them all. 

Oh, long life to the star-reaching pride of 
Americanism, courteous, generous, just! 

George Washington in his will made his 
dying declaration against the education abroad 
of the men of America. Though the uni- 

136 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

versity for which he left endowment is not 
built, his words of warning have not been for- 
gotten by his countrymen. 

A new George Washington, viewing the 
woman problem, will beseech the men of 
America to keep their young women also at 
home ; as they value the beauty of American- 
ism, not to send their daughters to the schools 
of France or England or Germany, whence 
they return utterly misunderstanding the 
religious and lofty pride of republicanism, 
despising the labor of their fathers while bene- 
fiting by it, and won over, in the defence- 
lessness of youth, to a punier standard. 

When old age shall come upon us as a na- 
tion — and it is already long since our youth 
looked on fresh ideals — it may be we shall 
drift, hoodwinking ourselves, into corrupt na- 
tional policies, but long may it be ere the code 
of individual honor will not fit to that of the 
nation, and we come to hold that a man must 
be honest, but men need not. America has 
kept and must keep her conscience. 

One that studies to portray the noble be- 
ginnings of our nation must be willing to pre- 
sent the whole truth, the noble as well as the 

137 



The First American 

unsightly, which latter seems to be supposed, 
by those diseased unfortunates peculiarly 
known as moderns, to be the only truth. 
History rings with the love and praise of 
Washington, because history is required to 
be historical, and because, as Cabot Lodge 
says, though in other words, in his exquisite 
biography of Washington, it is only necessary 
for an untruth to get into print to meet its 
best chance for a fall. 

To defamers of the great, a morsel of noto- 
riety is ready. A glib pen that writes of the 
eminent easily catches the eye. 

General Charles Lee, adventurer, proven 
traitor, is produced against Washington's 
probity by a recent writer, who is anxious, 
he says, to make Washington beloved, and, 
fearing that he stands forth too noble to suit 
the public, tries, among other ways, to make 
him an attractive picture by turning a mag- 
nifying glass on his hands and feet. 

Three critics do not make a country. The 
love of George Washington is full and strong 
from one end of this favored land to the other. 

It is surprising to see the reverence dis- 
played towards him in contemporary accounts. 

138 



Final Days at Mount Vernon 

Hostile criticism, not wanting, is small beside 
the volume of praise. Those that saw him 
daily knew his greatness. His critics were 
mostly those that but once beheld him or 
those who never met him. He had not the 
prophet's fate. 

One of his contemporaries, Thomas Dawes, 
of Massachusetts, wrote, in 1781 : 

" May the name of Washington continue 
steeled, as it ever has been, to the dark, slan- 
derous arrow that flieth in secret; for none 
have offered to eclipse his glory but have af- 
terwards sunk away diminished and shorn of 
their beams." 

Washington did so much to take off the 
bad odor from goodness, it is a pity that any 
should have attempted to extenuate his virtue. 
Many that loved him, in reporting render- 
ed him somewhat in their own image, a ten- 
dency illustrated by the much-observed fact 
that the face of Christ is Italian, Spanish, or 
German, according to the nationality of the 
painter. This is why Weems made Washing- 
ton's greatness ridiculous with the cherry-tree 
story. Weems loved Washington devotedly, 
and was a ridiculous story-teller. 

139 



The First American 

In the new National Library in Washing- 
ton, looking up at the ceiling upon the 
names, encircled with laurel leaves, of Emer- 
son, Browning, Wordsworth, Longfellow, 
Keats, I saw that these men had made their 
mere names as pretty as a flower. 

Washington's name is other than a flower 
— a jewel not subject to envious dissolving 
elements nor to the sleeping seasons. 



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artist, but also because it casts side-lights on the surroundings, if 
not on the personality, of that latter-day heroine of fiction and the 
foot-lights — Trilby. — Speaker, London. 

Few books more interesting as human documents have been 
published than "In Bohemia with Du Maurier." — Book Buyer, 
N. Y. 



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NEW YORK AND LONDON 

B^ Either of tlie above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, 
to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of tlie 
price. 



By justin McCarthy 



REMINISCENCES. Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Orna- 
mental, $4 50. 
A series of descriptions and recollections of eminent men and women 

with whom the author had the good fortune to become acquainted in 

Great Britain and Ireland, the United States and Canada, and on the 

continent of Europe. 

A HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES. From the Accession of 
Queen Victoria to the General Election of 1880. In Two Vol- 
umes. 12mo, Cloth, $2 50; Three-quarter Calf, $6 00. 

. From 1880 to the Diamond Jubilee. With Sixteen Portraits. 

12mo, Cloth, $1 75 ; Three-quarter Calf, $3 50. 
Set of three above volumes, Three-quarter Calf, $9 50. 

A SHORT HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES. From the Ac- 
cession of Queen Victoria to the General Election of 1880. 
12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

A HISTORY OF THE FOUR GEORGES. Two Volumes. 
12mo, Cloth, $1 25 each. 

SIR ROBERT PEEL. With Portrait. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 

MY ENEMY'S DAUGHTER. Illustrated. 8 vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

THE WATERDALE NEIGHBORS. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 

Animated without flashiness or flippancy, careful and methodical with- 
out superfluity of detail, picturesque without vulgar glare, thoughtful and 
reflective without sermonizing, full without prolixity, and concise without 
conceit. — Daily News, London. 

THE DICTATOR. Post8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 

. . . Full of love, revolution, and romance, and exciting to the last de- 
gree on eveiy page. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 



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$WAny of the above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, 
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THE BROWNING LETTERS 



THE LETTERS OF ROBERT BROWNING AND 
ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT, 1845-1846. 
Illustrated with Two Contemporary Portraits of the 
Writers, and Two Facsimile Letters. With a Pref- 
atory Note by R. Barrett Browning, and Notes, 
by ¥. G. Kenyon, Explanatory of the Greek Words. 
Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Deckel 
Edges and Gilt Tops, $5 00 ; Half Morocco, $9 50. 

Many good gifts have come to English literature from the two 
Brownings, husband and wife, besides those poems, which are 
their greatest. The gift of one's poems is the gift of one's self. But 
in a fuller sense have this unique pair now given themselves by 
what we can but call the gracious gift of these letters. As their 
union was unique, so is this correspondence unique. . . . The 
letters are the most opulent in various interest which have been 
published for many a day. — Academy, London. 

We have read these letters with great care, with growing as- 
tonishment, with immense respect ; and the final result produced 
on our minds is that these volumes contain one of the most pre- 
cious contributions to literary history which our time has seen. — 
Saturday Review, London. 

We venture to think that no such remarkable and unbroken 
series of intimate letters between two remarkable people has ever 
been given to the world. . . . There is something extraordinarily 
touching in the gradual unfolding of the romance in which two 
poets play the parts of hero and heroine. — Spectator, London. 



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